


Witchy Woman

by Fasnacht



Category: The Phantom Stallion
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Roller Coaster, F/M, Growing Up, Personal Growth, Teen Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-29
Updated: 2014-06-29
Packaged: 2018-02-06 15:51:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 51,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1863519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fasnacht/pseuds/Fasnacht
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Witch are left to their own devices after Jake goes to college. This is their story, an exploration of the horse/woman bond, with lots of sass, because really, have you met Witch? Title comes from the Eagles song of the same name. One-shot that grew into a story about life lessons as taught you by the animals of Three Ponies.</p>
<p>Please read the chapter headings. Warnings for each chapter will be placed there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Witchy Woman

It was time to have a woman to woman chat. Sam had hefted the bucket of grains, and poured it into the corner feeder hours ago, and it had not been touched while she was getting ready for school or even while she was out with Ace. "He's not coming back."

The horse to whom she spoke looked at Sam as if to say, "Whatever." Sam sighed when Witch didn't even care to look at her.

"I guess I'll turn you out now." Sam pulled aside the stall door. The dark horse moved surely, ignoring Sam as she made her way to the connected pasture. "Witch." Sam pleaded, "Come on."

Sam sighed and opened the gate to the pasture. Witch moved towards the water trough, and Sam said, "So you're admitting you're hungry, now?"

Witch snorted, as if to say, "You idiot, I am clearly drinking. Why was I left here with you, you foolish girl? It is not my fault you screw everything up. You are inept, at best."

Sam smiled, "You're drinking. Right. Well, I'm going to school. I bet you'd like school. You'd be just like Rachel used to be, all cool and confident. She had great hair. You'd be cooler if you ate though."

Witch moved away, with a toss of her mane. Sam laughed, "You're right. You couldn't possibly be cooler if you tried. And yes, your hair is nicer." Witch's vanity was satisfied, it seemed, for she loped away from Sam in the huge pasture. Her gait displayed a confidence that Sam did not feel.

Sam's shoulders slumped, and rubbed Ace's nose, who came up to her seeking a treat after his morning ride, "He was wrong to trust me with her. Can you get through to her, Ace?" His eager eyes promised that he would try. Sam knew it was no use. Witch would eat when she cared to, and no amount of fretting would change it. It had been weeks now, and the proud horse still missed Jake.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Sam raced to the barn every day after school. She was determined to see what, if anything, Witch had eaten. Dad said not to worry, that Witch was okay, that she was adjusting and doing better daily. Dallas said it was normal to miss Jake, though Sam couldn't figure out why he had told her that like she needed to know it, too. Sam ditched her backpack on the porch without going inside, and was glad that she'd worn boots to school. She hopped the fence into the pasture, and laughed as Ace demanded attention. "You silly cowpony, I love you too. How was your mission today?"

A hoof drawn along the grasses told her all she needed to know. "Ah, well. We can't have everything, can we?" Sam knew she had to march through the pasture to find Witch. Sam knew what she needed to do. She had been practicing for months, even before Jake had left for college.

Sam pursed her lips, and blew. Nothing came out, not even a weak trill. How did Jake do it? He simply licked his lips, more often than not, and paused. After a second, he'd whistle, and Witch would come like fire was nipping her heels. Sam tried again. Ace didn't even look up from where he was lazily pulling up grass, and Blue seemed to be laughing. She shot him a look, "Yeah, laugh it up." Still, her voice was light. She was going to get this.

Sam blew out a breath, watching as a curl bounced in reaction. Step one, Forester, is to pucker your lips. Just as easily, she had her tongue curled. Nothing came out but a hiss, no matter how much air she put into it. Sam was frustrated. This had been so much easier in the bathroom, when Ace wasn't staring at her from yards away, as though he couldn't believe her antics.

She tried again, relaxing her tongue, teeth, and jaw. She nearly cried with relief and lightheadedness when it worked. She was whistling, or she had. She was doing it. It was no longer something she practiced in the bathroom. Now that she had the basics down, after trying and trying, she knew that she needed to do the right tones.

It was harder than it seemed. She finally got it, after two tries. It was a weak attempt, but she was willing to make a fool of herself to help Witch. With her reasoning in mind, Sam used her fingers this time, to create two shrill blasts. She heard hoofbeats. Witch crested over the small rise in the pasture, and halted as she neared the fence-line. Her amber eyes scanned the pasture. Sam called out, "Witchy!"

Her eyes were angry. Sam thought she read betrayal in the dark depths. Sam apologized, "I know you don't like the nickname. I'm sorry. I whistled for you. See?" Sam demonstrated, softly. Blue and Witch shared a glance, obviously making fun of her skills. Well, she had done it once well enough to make Witch come towards her, even though nobody else even looked up.

Witch spun around, clearly intending to walk away. Sam tried to pet her, "I thought you might want to go for a ride..." The proud horse's response was as clear as day. She brushed off the gesture, and left.

Sam knew the whistling was key, because something shifted in their relationship after that. No longer was Witch ignoring her. She was now the enemy, or at least it felt that way, but at least Witch was engaging with her. She tried again, the next day. Witch did not come. Sam had to go and fetch her, call upon the manners Jake had taught the horse to tack her up and set out.

One day, two weeks later, Sam forgot to check if Witch had inhaled, and so she landed in the dirt not two seconds after mounting up. Sam's eyes stung as a cloud of dirt met her smarting bottom. "That was my fault, wasn't it?"

Witch looked at her, and Sam felt the words the horse could not speak, "It certainly wasn't mine. You are more foolish than I thought, if you think you are a match for me, little girl."

Sam resaddled the horse. Witch did not try to unseat Sam again for her point had been well and truly made.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Finally, three weeks later, Sam could take no more. Another ride full of indifference hurt like a thousand knives. Witch turned away. She refused the treat Sam offered with a disdainful sniff. Every bit of progress Sam thought she had made felt as though it had been ripped away, left lying there in her upturned palm, Sam called to her retreating form, "I know I'm not Jake, but we're stuck with each other, okay? Seems to me you should get used to it." Sam sat down in the grass, dejectedly. The other horses gave her a wide berth as she cried.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

After some analysis, Sam realized that Witch's mannerisms said it all. She would tolerate Sam only when she needed her, but she would not coddle her. Sam tried to talk to Witch on the rides they shared. She could not think of one thing to say, so she talked about their mutual connection. On one hand, she thought talking about Jake would help Witch to remind her just who wanted them together. On the other, she thought Witch just might be interested in the news of the one person she seemed to love.

Sam talked as they started off, the barn fading behind them. "He doesn't call me, but Quinn says he's fine. I can't bring myself to call him, Witch. Do you think I should? Jen says it reeks of desperation, but can't a friend call a friend? What would I say, though? I'd tell him about you, but I don't have anything to say. You still hate me."

She talked all the while, until they came back in again, "I liked seeing those hawks, too. Didn't you? I wonder what Jake would have thought of them, but of course, he didn't come home for Thanksgiving." Sam had told Witch about the track team's retreat at some resort or something for training and team-building over the Thanksgiving break, but Sam wondered if Witch was even listening, or if she even cared. The rides they shared over Thanksgiving were quieter and more subdued as a result. Witch did not even try to assert her superiority. Sam chewed her lip in worry at how low the horse seemed.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Sam tried to show Witch that while she wasn't Jake, that she loved her. She tried to integrate her into Ace's routines while maintaining her own. She tried to groom her with Jake's notorious precision while playing music, which was something Jake dismissed, but her horses loved it. She hoped Witch would feel more like she belonged if she got her her choice, instead of letting Ace pick Son Volt all the time. One Saturday, Sam planned through grooming, and looked to Witch. Her iPod was in the dock in the barn, sitting on a small out of the way shelf above an outlet. Sam asked Witch, "What would you like to hear?"

Witch's appraisal of her made Sam smile, and she said, "I'll pick today, okay? How about Frankie Valli? I'll put on my mix, yeah?" Sam pushed the buttons and let the music softly play. She moved around Witch, and took up the brush, "Jake'll be home for Christmas in a few days. I'll bet you want to look nice, huh, after all that rolling about in the slush you've been doing?" The firm strokes curried away the dirt and hair. Sam ran out of things to say, so she just muttered along with the songs. Witch blew out a breath, and Sam agreed, "Yeah, I'm no singer. Deal. This is the deluxe package, off key and all." Sam continued brushing, and got lost in the music and in the activity. "Oh, I love this one. You know the words, Witch, I know you do."

Witch turned her head to look at Sam. Her eyes replied, "You are utterly certifiable if you think I care one whit for Diana Ross. However, I will admit that she is not as unpleasant as that swill you play for Ace. _"_

Sam smiled, "You like  _You Keep Me Hangin' On_ , don't you, Witch? You can't admit it. I get it. We're cool." Sam stepped back, admiring her work. "Are you going to be okay with the water? I warmed it up for you."

Witch didn't shy away from the application of the warmed water, not even as it slouched down her body towards the drain in the floor, "If I must submit to the assertion that I am anything less than pristine, I suppose the the least you could do is heat the water."

"You're such a good girl, Witch. You like the warm water, don't you?" Sam's goulashes squeaked, and Witch moved away at that, "Hey, you're okay. The water's done. How do you feel about Mane n' Tail?" Sam put the diluted soap on Witch, and rubbed it in with a rubber mitt. Dad said the purchase would spoil the horses, but Sam thought it was fun. "Want to know a secret? You can't tell Jake."

Witch stayed still, and switched her tail. "I'm mildly interested, though I doubt you've many secrets worth the effort it would take to impart them to him. I lack verbal skills, as you well know."

"Once, Jake hugged me, and he asked what I used in my hair. I don't know why. He probably wanted to make fun or something." Sam continued scrubbing, as Witch turned her head, as though she could not believe what she was hearing, "I lied. I use Mane n' Tail. But I told him it was something else, because he'd make fun even worse if he knew I use horse shampoo. It does give results, though."

Witch turned her neck, as if to double check Sam's work, and present her mane to her minion. Sam almost wished she could really speak. It felt like Witch was saying, "I'll say so. Don't you miss my mane, now. I refuse to look slovenly after the magnitude of this undertaking on my part."

Sam stepped back calmly, "Hey, don't go moving around. You're such a good girl. You're doing so well. I'll get your mane as soon as as I'm done with your tail, okay? This is almost over. You're such a pretty lady."

Witch lifted a front hoof, as a woman might when inspecting her nails dully. "I would hardly stop at pretty. I am rather majestic, am I not?"

Sam laughed, and kissed Witch's nose. The horse did not shy away, though Sam thought she looked mildly disgusted at the display of affection.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Sam was disappointed, as she untacked Witch three days later, that she gave no interaction that could be interpreted as a response to her chattering. Still, she kept at it. She talked about the upcoming Christmas season, her excitement at seeing Jake again. She talked about wishing she still had a math tutor. She talked about finding one, and dropping him, because he never explained anything so she could get it. Witch seemed to respond to that, tensing so that Sam patted her neck. Sam talked about how she'd gotten a C+ on another math test, and how Dad was on the verge of killing her over it. Witch didn't seem to care about that. Sam kept coming back to the fact that Jake would be home in 24 hours. He would be home. She could not keep her palms from sweating. That day before school, Witch stepped on her foot twice. Sam knew she'd done it on purpose, as a way to tell her to keep her wits about her. Sam almost thanked her for the reminder.

When she got the news from Mrs. Ely that afternoon, she knew what she had to do. She hopped over the ice, and the piles of snow, uncaring that she skittered and shivered in the freezing and bitter cold. Just days ago, it had been unseasonably warm, and now it felt as icy as her heart. Sam raced to Witch's stall. "Witch." Something in Sam's voice must have alerted the horse, because she looked up directly. Sam let herself into the stall. "He's not coming. He won't say why. He didn't even call me." Sam bit back a sob as Witch stepped away from her.

Sam tried to hug Witch, but the horse's eyes were accusatory, "What did you do? It must be you. He would never refuse to come back to me. What have you done, you silly child?"

"I don't know, Witch. I'm so sorry. I know this hurts." Sam wiped away tears, "Wow, does this hurt. But...please, Witch. We're making progress. I couldn't bear it if I lost you, too. Just think about it. Please?"

Footfalls caused Sam to inhale, and wipe the last of her hasty tears away on the sleeve of her coat, "Sam?"

"I'm here, Dad." Sam let herself out of Witch's stall. "Sorry."

"You weren't with Ace." Dad mused, as Witch popped her head out of the stall. Sam gasped when she realized that Witch was rooting for a treat. Sam offered the one that remained in her coat from this morning easily. As Witch crunched away on it, Dad said, "Well, you're making strides with that horse. I'm real proud of you, Tumbleweed."

Sam forgot to cry, later, when she was alone. Her mind wasn't centered on what Jake's refusal to come home meant, but rather on what Witch's actions, totally out of the blue, had signified for their relationship. Still, in the dark of the night, it was not Witch she dreamed about, but Jake. She woke easily, wondering what on earth he had done, who had become. She fantasized about loading up, driving to the school, and dragging him home hogtied in the back, just so she wouldn't have to see the resignation in Mrs. Ely's eyes, and hear the pain in Quinn's voice. What had happened to the man she knew? He didn't return her calls. Whatever they had been, or hadn't been, would never be. She bottled it up, and threw away the key. Jake couldn't give her his time, but he had entrusted her with his horse. In this, she would not fail, even if it killed her, not because she wanted to show him she was good enough, but because she wanted there to be proof of all that he had given up.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Sam crept back into the barn on Valentine's Day, long past chores. She spent time with Ace, and then with Witch. Witch was sipping water with her usual fastidiousness. Sam knew they had to lay it out there. "I've thought about this for weeks. I have a proposition for you. What's say you and I forget about Jake Ely? We're strong, independent, women. We don't need him. We're too cool for words. We've got each other. We don't need him, Witch."

Witch looked up, "Of course we do, idiot!" Her amber eyes laughed at Sam, or they pitied her for her delusions.

Sam shook her head, driving away the war her mind was waging. She had to be rational. "He left us. We're not going to cry into the dirt, Witch. I've done that enough. And so have you. We're going to let him go, and be just as happy as he is. Except, we're going to be happier, because we have each other. We're going to be happy as individuals."

Witch blew out a puff of air, "You want to make him jealous, and you want me to be in on it. I have never heard of such a devious little ploy, not in all my days. It's foolish."

"See the thing is, you and I, we need to bond. We need to work on being friends. I'm willing to put my all into this. Are you?" Sam sighed, "I'm crazy. It's just...he left us, Witch, but we've got each other, and I'm terrified to lose you, but I don't even have you." Sam began to walk away. "I can be alone just fine, but I want you to know that you aren't."

Witch nickered. Sam spun around quickly. "What?" Sam pressed, "This would be so much easier if you could speak." Sam petted Witch, "I'm a silly girl, with a silly, silly, plan."

Witch's dark eyes seemed to be lit with an unholy fire, "You wanted a horse, you've got one. But I don't do things by halves. Hold on to that ridiculously unfashionable hat, girl."

Sam smiled, unaware of the insult to her hat, "Did that nicker mean you'll do it?" She brushed the hair away from Witch's eyes.

Witch stepped away, and rubbed her lips along the pocket where she knew Sam kept treats. "No, you idiot. The nicker meant come here. Give me a treat, and I'll work out the kinks in your plan. It's far too elementary by half."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Sam didn't know what she'd done, but she'd done something. Witch was an entirely new horse as Spring took hold on the high desert. Sam's confidence soared, as Witch did. The horse no longer pulled the petty kinds of stunts she had all term. She seemed to trust Sam, and Sam settled into their dynamics. Their friendship blossomed into something Sam would die to defend. "I think I'm crazy, Witch, but half the time, I think you're replying when I talk."

Witch pulled on the reins, a tiny fraction of an inch, and let go as quickly as she had done it. Sam almost missed it. "I have to do something with my time. It's not as if your little ambles are challenging to a lady of my prowess."

Sam grinned, and urged Witch to fly. She laughed, as the sped like a thundering train across the desert. Sam whooped in exhilaration. They were moving as one. They were doing it. They were a team. When they slowed, it was all Sam could do, not to sob in joy. They were a unit. Their relationship was so different from the one she had with Ace. Ace was her baby, and she would love him until her dying day, but Witch, Witch was an equal. Witch challenged her, and worked with her, if she listened. Witch pushed her to grow, even as Sam knew that she was in charge when push came to shove. The moment of understanding nearly knocked her off the horse.

Witch huffed as she pushed herself up with the horn. "Yeah, I manage to stay on as you nearly kill me, but drop down four or five notches, and I nearly fall off. Yeah. That's how I roll."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Sam was in a bind entirely of her own making. She had to get out to see what was going on, on the range. She felt the unsettling atmosphere, and knew, in her heart, that she wouldn't sleep until she knew all was well. She felt a disconnect that ripped her open inside. She hadn't been out on the range in ages. Between Ace, Witch, school, and more school, she had no time to just be. It was too rare. Still, one night found the Sam standing under the full moon and the stars, which felt so close she could almost touch them. It was almost summer, and she hadn't seen the wild horses in weeks. She just needed to get out there, feel free. She felt hemmed in. There was only so much time a girl could spend in a schoolroom, not with weather as lovely as they were having.

Sam crept into the barn, and stopped. Dallas was in the tack room, working at all hours, as was his wont. She felt Witch's bridle tingle in her fingers, because she'd taken it inside to clean, while Cody slept, but nothing else. They'd been working on bareback, in the ring and then the pastures and even riding with Jen, but this was the litmus test of weeks of trust building, some of which had left her in the dirt. Those times, though, it had been her own fault, not Witch's. The devil on her shoulder whispered tempting things.

Without a word, Sam led Witch out into the yard, praying that she wouldn't be caught. "Can we make this work?" Sam slipped the bridle on, and asked Witch's permission. The horse gave it, and Sam felt something shift from within her soul as her body melded into Witch's back. She worked carefully to sit forward, but her toes dipped, and Witch interpreted that as a signal to go faster, before they even set out. Sam's breath caught in a whoosh, as they sped over the bridge, and into the night before anyone saw.

Once they slowed, Sam inhaled, "I suppose I should thank you for getting us out of there so quickly, but..."

Witch tossed her head and inhaled, letting out a whinny, "But nothing. Your indecisiveness nearly got us caught." Sam wondered if she'd imagined hearing Dallas coming out of the barn behind her.

Sam made a calming noise, and patted her neck, "Shh. You're alright. Do you smell the wild horses?" Sam looked around, and caught a flash of silver out of the corner of her eye on the horizon. There were many other dots following them. After a long period of observation, was satisfied, and made move to turn around. Witch would have none of it. It seemed as though she was intent on moving towards the horses. "I can't believe you're being stubborn now. I let you have your way too much."

Witch pulled back to the left. Sam corrected Witch, by not giving an inch, "We can't go that way. Dad would kill me, and then what would you do?"

Witch allowed herself to be urged back to the ranch, with a snort. "I assure you, I would have no trouble making my way."

Sam grinned, "Oh, Witch, you silly girl. What would Jake say about how I've ruined your discipline? I know, I know... We're not supposed to talk about him. But I miss him, you know, especially on nights like this, when the moments feel so full. I'm glad you're here to share them with me."

"I'm better company." Witch asserted, through a spring in her step, "After all, Jake Ely can't make you feel like the stars are your carpet." Sam laughed in joy, as they sped across the range. Her week of groundation was worth it. Dallas ratted her out to Dad after he read her the riot act himself, which began the very second she set hoof back on her own land.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

After she got off probation, Sam knew her confidence had grown. She didn't sob when Mrs. Ely told her that Jake wasn't coming home for Spring break. Apparently, he was off in Montana with some school friend. No, she didn't sob. If she cried, the only one who knew was Witch, and Sam knew she'd never tell. After that, Sam rarely used a saddle with Witch. It was easier, somehow, not to. She never worried about her saddle if they ended up in the middle of the lake, or not being able to communicate with Witch. Without the saddle, it was freaky how much they seemed to be able to share. She had to hide her disuse from her father, though, because she didn't want him to get suspicious.

It was so amazing with Witch, now that they were training towards bridleless riding. They were finally friends. She could tell her anything, and it seemed that Witch understood her, even the things she did not say. Sam tried to settle into her new life. It was a life without Jake, but she was okay. She would never be angry at him, never, because he had given her Witch. Somehow, she came to terms with that. It was a gesture of trust. He trusted her with the one being that had meant the world, the very universe to him. Sam had expected him to call to make sure she wasn't screwing up his horse, at least weekly, but he never did. He had not called her at all. He hadn't picked up the phone on his birthday, nor replied to birthday card she'd mailed. On a whim that Jen dismissed as desperation, Sam had included a photograph of her and Witch, together. Selfishly, she wondered if he remembered her at all. Sam's memory faded. Jen watched as she slid off of Witch's back. She said the same thing she had been saying for the last eight weeks, "You're crazy."

Did Jen know Sam thought Witch was talking to her, sometimes, that she could sometimes read her body and actions like she was hearing words? "Wh-What?"

"Teaching her that." Jen said, gesturing to the neck rope that Sam hadn't touched for weeks. "She's not your horse. You have no right to train her to bridleless. It's dangerous!"

"I trust her." Sam asserted. "We're a team." Sam wanted to know how far they could take it, how much they could meld. She had read all her life about bridleless riding. She'd seen Dad train horses to it, several times. She'd always wanted to try it, and it felt right with Witch. They'd stumbled into it by accident and circumstance, but Sam wasn't about to walk away from Witch's freely given gesture of trust.

"She doesn't have the temperament for it, Sam." Jen asserted, gripping the metal gate tightly, "Neither do you."

"Excuse me?" Sam said, eyes crackling with fire. Just because Jen didn't understand the promises they'd made each other, didn't mean that she could insult their efforts.

Jen backed off, speaking softly and letting go of the fence. "You know she's not the kind of horse that responds well to bridleless riding. She's hardly compliant or docile."

"Funny, what I just saw was exactly that." Despite her strongheadness, Witch had taken to this like a fish to water. When the bridle was off, she never, never, acted up. Sam wasn't going to put their safety in jeopardy. She wasn't stupid, and if it didn't go well, the bridle would go back on, no questions asked. They'd worked for weeks on cues, on doing it, with the reins tied as a fallback. She had learned something from her father. She would never ruin a horse with foolishness. After all, she'd done it once. Only a fool didn't take the lessons from her mistakes.

"You're desperate, Sam, to hold onto to anything that reminds you of him." Jen asserted. "You're determined to do this, because you think that if you remove every last barrier between Witch and you, that Jake will come back to you."

"That's a baldfaced lie, Jen, and you know it. He gave her to me, and he walked away. Why should we languish away? We don't need Jake Ely." With that, Sam mounted up. Witch seemed to be looking down her nose at Jen. Had she been able, Sam would sworn she flicked her hair like a girl in high school at Jen when she tossed her mane.

Jen called after her, as she stood in the ring at Harmony, "So that's what this is! I pray you don't test theory with me, because I'm not Jake Ely. I won't pick up your bleeding and broken body from the desert floor, Sam."

Sam knew Jen wouldn't. That's why the only things she could trust with her safety, body, mind, and soul, were her horses, and the things she herself had taught them.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Despite Jen's reservations, their fight was quickly forgotten. Sam took to riding with nothing more often than not. When Dad or Dallas was around, watching her tack up, she used the neck rope. Dad sat her down, the first time he saw it, and ran his hand through his hair. Nothing would dissuade her, though, and he knew it. He took her on a ride with Witch several times, running them through the paces.

She and Witch had grown up, somehow. They took to flying over the range in the evenings, staying out until twilight. The mornings belonged to Ace. He was her baby. He was her heart, but Witch was a part of her mind and soul in a way that Sam could not articulate. "Where should we go, Witch?" Sam asked, "I can't believe school ends tomorrow. Wow. Where should I go to college? I keep getting things in the mail. I wish you could show me my future."

Witch flicked a hoof, and Sam smiled. "You can? Really?" Sam patted her neck, "Why you don't you, O Great One?"

Witch turned her head, as if to say, "I hope you were being serious about that nickname. I sincerely do not take kindly to mocking. Remember, you asked for this."

Sam urged Witch onward, and she loped forward, with a grace that stole Sam's breath. Sam urged her into a flying change, just because she could, and Witch knew it. Still, she threaded fingers into Witch's mane, and let the speed take her away. She was a time-traveller, and it was glorious. There was nothing more she wanted. Something welled up inside of her. There was something she wanted. She'd buried it the first time it had come around, but if it ever did again with someone new, she would not let it pass by without a fight. She was older and stronger. She knew who she was. 

The light of the fading sun shined around them. Sam reached up slightly as the chopsticks holding her hair back flew out, becoming lost somewhere in the brush they left behind. She'd taken to using them because hairties never contained her hair, and pins dug into her, ached under the weight of her hair. Sam leaned down, and used her leg to urge Witch into a gallop. She felt like a warrior, wild, crazy, but wholly in control of her choices.

She would take what Witch had taught her, and grasp the future with both hands, whatever it brought. She would always remember Jake, and the love she'd come to understand that they'd let them pass by last year. By giving her Witch, he'd opened the door to another kind of love, another kind of friendship, and she would be grateful for that gift, until the moment she died. Through Witch, her future was now. Her future was now, Sam realized, because she had started living in the moment. She was living wholly in the moment. She felt powerful and in control, full of hope and joy. It was a hope borne of confidence and the joy that came from a hard won assurance. This was the embodiment of her future, and the best part was, she didn't have to wait for it. It was now, right there for the taking, lying across the open range like an unplotted map.

**The Beginning**

_Meanwhile, Back at Three Ponies..._

Jake slapped his hat against his knee, lost in thought. Quinn was insistent that he come with him before anything else, and after all of this time, Jake didn't have the heart to deny him.

"You can take Digger." Quinn offered, "Come on. There's something you need to see. Hurry up."

"What?" He pressed as they set out. Jake knew that Quinn was beyond angry at his behavior, but there was no way to explain that he hadn't called because he was weak. He knew that in one conversation, he would crumble, come home and never leave again. He had no way of telling them all that he wasn't going back to school. He'd busted himself, gotten his 60 credits throughout the regular terms, and the vacation sessions, and was applying to the police academy next month. There had been no trip to Montana, unless they counted the Montana Room in the school library.

"Come on." Quinn picked up the pace, and came to a stop on a slight rise. Jake was out of breath. Digger was nothing like Witch, and he hadn't been on a horse in almost a year. His thighs nearly hurt, though he would never admit it.

"Why are we here?" Jake asked, trying not to revel in how much he had missed this. He had missed this so much it almost felt like he was bleeding inside.

Quinn fished binocs out of his saddle bags. "I don't know if you'll need 'em. Sometimes, I do, and sometimes I don't. Should be any second now."

Jake wasn't sure what he was waiting for. He was wasting time, sitting here with his brother. He had a lot to say to Sam. He needed to see her, promise her that the radio silence had been personal, but not in the way she thought. He knew he'd hurt her. She called, but never left messages. He would know it had been her without checking the caller ID, because she'd inhale and exhale once on the machine, like the beep had hurt her. Sometimes, hearing her breathe, just once, after a 15 hour day, had been the only thing to get him through the night and wake up the next morning.

After he'd come up with his plan to get all of his credits done in one year, he'd run at it full speed, uncaring what his dormmates thought. He didn't even know any of their names. The Fall credit load of 21 credits...Woah. Was that Witch? Moreover, was that Sam? The rider in the distance moved in unison with the horse. Jake raised the binoculars to his eyes, and his questions were answered. It was indeed Sam and his horse. His heart skipped a beat as Sam's hair fell down, swirling about her in a nimbus he could see from far away.

Jake didn't remove the binoculars. Quinn urged, "Really look, okay?"

He pulled away his gaze from her wide, heartfelt smile, and his heart stopped. There was no saddle. Sam was racing at breakneck speeds across the range, without the support of a saddle. Her hands moved, as did her leg, and he thought, "Thank God, she's slowing down." His heart dropped as she sped up, rather than slowing down. Witch's gait shifted seamlessly from a lope to a full out gallop. Her inky black body looked like a steam engine as Sam guided her without reins. Jake made a broken sound. There was nothing between them, except an amazing trust and a natural skill that amazed him.

Jake tossed the the binocs at Quinn and urged Digger into a lope as his heart pounded. He had no clue what he was doing, but this felt right. His hands were shaking. There would be time to process what his actions meant later. He needed to touch her, feel her heartbeat thud against him as the adrenaline pulsed through her veins, as she reveled in the relationship she clearly had forged with Witch. His horse, his stubborn, willful horse, had met her equal in the valkyrie of a woman before him. He wanted to know if he could keep up with her, match her hoofbeat for hoofbeat, heartbeat for heartbeat, soul to soul. If he could, who knew what tomorrow would bring?

_Raven hair and ruby lips_   
_Sparks fly from her finger tips_   
_Echoed voices in the night_

_She's a restless spirit on an endless flight_   
_Woo Hoo Witchy Woman,_

_See how high she flies_   
_Woo Hoo Witchy Woman_

_She's got the moon in her eyes_

_Witchy Woman_ , The Eagles


	2. Tequila Sunrise

**Hold on to your hats! It's one year of emotional growth in 11,000 words. Did I manage it?**

The morning sun hadn't yet poked over the mountains in the horizon, but Sam didn't care. She had awoken before dawn for almost a year now, and her necessary chores were mostly done. The saddle she'd been lugging hit the ground when she scanned the pasture. Ace snuffled her hair, as fury built inside her. That rat had stolen her horse. Again. He had completely screwed with her yogi mindset, and what's more, he knew it. He delighted in throwing her off center. He was probably gloating right now, if he hadn't crawled back into his bed.

Sam smiled at Ace, "We'll show him, right?" His dark eyes promised that he had confidence in her abilities. Sam felt a rush of love for Ace, and his unwavering support. "But first, what's say you and I tackle some yoga?" Sam left the saddle over the fence.

Sam hopped the gate. Ace nuzzled her shoulder, and she kissed his wonderful face. "You're such a wonderful boy, Ace." He never left her side, not for anything.

Sam began her routine as she had for the past months, with the lotus pose. This venture had begun when she couldn't sleep during the school year. Ace was still, and Sam drew her booted heel up towards her abdomen, and crossed her legs, right leg resting atop the left as she found her center on Ace's back. He turned his head to look at her, and she smiled. He was used to her antics. Sam spent a few moments just connecting with Ace. The morning was awakening around them. Sam heard Gram open the chicken run, and Pepper call out to Gram in greeting. Nobody sought her out, instead she and Ace were left alone, working through various poses, both on and off of his back. At times, she was silent, and other times, she spoke to Ace, whispering words of connection and reassurance.

She couldn't do her favorite pose without someone to hold Ace, so she settled for closing her routine by saddling him up and doing saddle twists. When the last breath left her body, at the end of an eight count, Sam leaned down, unhooked the gate, and rode Ace into the rising sun. He nickered in joy, greeting his friend Strawberry as they passed her by, and the morning looked bright. Later, she would kick some rumpus, but for now, she had a morning ride to enjoy. She was alone, and by now, she was more than fine with it. She didn't even hurt when the thought that it shouldn't be this way crossed her mind. She didn't feel like her soul was bleeding. Sam crossed off another day in her mind. Every day she could count as this new normal, whatever it was, was a victory.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Her iPod, luckily, didn't skip as she ran along the path between River Bend and her closest neighbor. The miles sped by in the early morning, as her thoughts matched her pace. Sam was glad she'd loosened up with some yoga. Her run was fueled by indignation and vengeance. They were hardly meditative thoughts, but the energy propelled her to Three Ponies quickly. Sam used the solitude to reflect on the mishmash her life had become.

The brush and rocks moved by as Sam recalled racing over this very terrain seven, no, weeks eight weeks ago. That night had been nothing short of magical. Out of nowhere, Jake appeared. Sam recalled the elation that had filled her in that moment. She'd spotted him out of the corner of her eyes, and felt Digger match Witch stride for stride, until they slowed. No words were spoken between them that night. Their very togetherness had been enough.

Sam had held out hope that she would see Jake the next day, but of course, he didn't show until mid-afternoon. The day had felt endless, but when he was finally in front of her, when she could finally say her piece, they didn't speak. The moments had felt too full to use words, not when she couldn't find them. Sam felt like she'd swallowed her tongue, and that ticked her off. She was hardly 15 anymore. Her nervous system didn't seem to care that she was mature. But, Lord, she'd missed him. Her skin tingled with his very presence, and that made her angrier still, with herself. If she couldn't keep her composure, she wouldn't speak. He'd left behind a girl, she knew, and it wouldn't do to prove he'd come home to one as well.

Seeing Jake slide so easily, so presumptively, back into routines that had shifted without him had robbed her of any goodwill towards him, mostly because it unnerved her that any sense of equilibrium she'd built had been knocked out from under her with one blink of those mustang eyes of his when he sat atop Digger. She was better than that, to be so totally shaken by his reappearance, presumptive as his actions were. What did he expect, that she had stagnated, waiting for him? They worked in relative silence that day, and the next, and the next. There was nothing to say, it seemed, beyond the little things that needed to be said for work to be done.

Sam's iPod changed songs, and she recalled the last time Ace had requested it in the barn. While it had been playing, Jake had spoken. They spent countless moments together, but neither of them broke the silence about the past year in any meaningful way. Just as Sam had worked to put together the words to say, "I missed you..." Jake had spoken, breaking into the symphony that was her racing blood and pounding heart.

"I'm leaving tomorrow, Sam." He'd pulled his hat down low dodging the horse, "I need you to keep Witch for me. I'm going to the police academy." Sam's stride on the dirt path nearly stumbled as she recalled realizing that he was leaving again, leaving, and probably going back to school right after. His assertions to Pepper, and to Dallas even, that he was home for good had meant nothing. Sam knew her thoughts were irrational, but they were what they were, at the time.

She stopped thinking, and instead allowed herself to feel the weak morning sun that would bake them alive in a few hours, smell the deep tinge of earth in the air, as pungent as the iron in blood.

Still, Sam had realized something and backed off from speaking, that night in the barn. Witch was hers. It was done, or she had thought. Jake had opened his mouth to speak, but Witch head butted him, pushing him forward, and he had to go. Sam stopped working up the gumption to say that she'd missed him. He obviously hadn't missed her. He never talked about it, and now, it seemed they were moving on again.

She vowed that night that she would not call this time. She'd called Jen, and Jen had sighed, and told her to do something or stop fretting over it, so Sam had. She had moved on, too. It was not his fault that he had to live his life. She had to live her life, too. They had their own lives. He wanted an easy friendship back, well, he could have it at the expense of any emotional intimacy. Sam was nobody's fool, nor was she a glutton for punishment. She would not open herself to pain.

The second day he'd left had passed like his first one had, with a big breakfast. She was sandwiched between Jake and Brynna at the breakfast. She was a big girl, even if she did bolt to the barn right after. She could sit next to him and eat a meal, even if each bite tasted like sawdust and felt like lead. Max kept looking at her, though, like she was missing something big, and Sam had hated that, because she didn't want to be the villain that destroyed the picture of Jake in Max's head. Moreover, because of Jake, she'd had to listen to a litany of relationship advice from her stepmother for days afterward. As if they had a relationship. Friends returned one out of the million phone calls, letters, and emails she'd sent. Friends didn't blow friends off like so much trash, or dust.

She'd run countless miles a day the weeks he was gone, both the first and second time. Dad allowed her to help with his cases, and she and her horses had lived a fairly normal life. Jake was not a integral part of her life anymore, but at least the internal acknowledgment of that fact didn't make her feel like she had Phantom Limb Syndrome. Yoga helped that. She turned a bend in the path, and recalled Gram's ample hugs during the six weeks Jake was gone again. Sam didn't know why Gram was treating this like it was a big change. Him being home was the change, when she could have used the support of not being thrown in with him at every turn. Sam had returned the gesture of affection by starting breakfast some days, as she was always up before Gram anymore. She rarely slept, and she supposed she was moving beyond the teenager's time clock she'd had for years. She hadn't slept past 6 or so since Jake left the first time.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Surprisingly, he'd shown up back at home, and not at school, six weeks later, thinner, with a shaved head, and a shift in his posture. You could have knocked Sam over with a feather when he showed up at River Bend that weekend, and worked silently beside her, mucking stalls, staring at her as if he could consume her soul. She was not distracted by his presence, not really. It was simply that she was so used to working in solitude anymore. That was why she kept tripping over her feet and making stupid mistakes. Working with anybody, anyone on the planet, after being alone so long was plenty enough to cause her to blush at random moments, to want to go from crying to screaming in sixty seconds flat, though she never did.

It was then that Jake Ely, a sheriff's deputy so young that his mother had to sign off on buying his ammo, became a horse thief. He had ridden Witch to Three Ponies one night without telling her, like it was his Devine right, and that had been the last straw. Nobody, not even him, would pull one over on Samantha Anne Forester. He would not turn her into an idiot, not with his assumptions and a slow blink of those eyes. She was pleased, then, that she had taken up running during his year long absence. Jen said it was a obvious way of proving to herself that she didn't need Jake Ely, but Sam knew it was merely an activity to challenge herself with on early mornings when her body refused to sleep. She could only listen to so much RFD on the radio before she went insane.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Sam commenced her daily ritual as she reached the ranch house at Three Ponies, moving quickly as the iPod muted. She took the water bottle that Max had set out for her, and downed it on the way to the pasture. Luke smiled at her from the barn's doorway, and she waved, tossing the bottle in the recycle bin that had conveniently been left open by the aforementioned rancher. Sam hopped the fence, and inhaled. All hell was going to break loose at her next move, and she was more than ready.

Sam saw Luke and Quinn edge forward to watch. She could not go into the barn, not anymore. Sam counted to three, nodded to her clandestine audience, and put three fingers to her lips. Her whistle split the air as Witch came thundering up to her. Without missing a beat, she swung up onto the bare horse. With a soft leg and a small hand signal, Sam guided Witch out of the pasture. As they passed the house, it was all she could not laugh as Jake came bolting out of the house, his undershirt still creased from sleep, and his toothbrush hanging limply from his mouth. At his obvious displeasure at being outfoxed, Sam caught his eye, and grinned. Beat that, Ely.

Witch's pace quickened of her own accord, and Sam advised her to maintain her pace. "It seems to me that if you are going to interrupt my morning, the least you ought to be obligated to do is make it worth my while."

"What?" Sam asked, "Seeing Jake like that wasn't amusing? I think it was."

Witch made a noise that might have been, "Personally, I tend to look at a stallion's confirmation before I make up my mind as to his desirability. It also doesn't hinder his courtship if..."

Sam made a clicking sound to focus Witch, "Hey, now. I see that rabbit, too. You're okay..."

Witch huffed as she sidestepped, "If this is what I get when I try to give you advice, girl..."

Sam smiled and assisted Witch with calming words, "Yes, that was a silly rabbit, wasn't it?" Sam patted her neck soothingly, "Well, he's gone, now."

He was gone, and he'd never be back.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Two weeks later, her knee gripped Witch's hoof as she used a pick to clean it, with practiced moves. "You've got a manicure with the farrier next week. I spend more time on your nails in a week than I do on my own in a year." Sam mused.

Witch's hoof hit the ground. She turned her neck to the left to see Sam, "You could make an effort, you know. And anyway, it takes time and money to enhance my natural beauty. I sincerely hope you do not begrudge me my due."

"Yes, you like to look your best, don't you?" Sam finished with her other hoof, "You're such a pretty girl."

Witch blew out, "Don't patronize me. I'm neither a girl, nor merely pretty. I'm worthy of painting." She sniffed the air, "He's coming."

Sam nodded, "Yeah, I hear the truck, too. Let's go before..." There was a crunch of a footstep behind her and Sam steeled her spine. She focused on Witch, but it was no use. She prayed she wasn't blushing again. Privately, Sam wondered if she had some capillary disease.

She could practically see Jake moistening his cracked lips as he said, "I thought I'd catch you."

Sam spun on her heel to find Jake directly in front of her. There was enough space between them to breathe, to think, thank God. Witch stepped forcefully to the left, practically knocking her into Jake. Sam shot a look at the horse, who merely implied, "Who? Moi? Surely you're looking for someone else."

Sam rolled her eyes. Jake didn't move, and neither did Witch. There was no space between them as she asked, "What do you want?" His brown eyes sparkled, and Sam knew that her heart was racing. A slow grin took over his face, and Sam had enough. She had to get away. "I'm busy."

"Hm?" Jake pressed, "Oh. Yeah. I know. Let's go." Jake took her wrist, and literally propelled her towards Ace. Sam exhaled, and hoped that the thumb pressing over her pulse would obscure her heart-rate. She was a bit dehydrated, so of course her heart was racing, beating quadruple time.

"Jake! What part of 'I'm busy' do you..." Sam looked at Ace. Suddenly, she realized he was her out. "I have plans." Her goofy horse was licking with abandon on his salt lick, and Sam wished she had a drink. Her mouth was dry and looking at the salt lick was not helping her.

"I know." Jake patted the horse, and Ace looked at him like he'd placed the very stars in the sky.

Her cowpony was taken in, but she knew better... Wait. "You do?" Sam felt relief. He'd leave. People left you alone when you told them you had better things with your time. Sure, it had taken her two semesters to figure it out, but not all ways of telling were verbal. She had learned her lesson, and he had been her teacher. Surely he'd get the message he'd spent so long sending.

"Yeah." Jake said, like she was missing something, "With me."

"I really can't." Sam said, backing away, nearly tripping over her own feet, "I have-have a...thing." She usually ate her dinner in the barn tonight, so no one would miss her if she said she had to eat at home. She did have to eat at home, just not in the house. Hanging out here, over dinner, had started when Dad had complained about her being so busy and never going out for fun. She said she had fun with her horses, and Brynna told him to leave her be. She was happy, alone.

"Oh, don't worry, we're bringing your boyfriend along." He quirked his eyebrow, as he saddled Ace, "Ace wouldn't want you to go without him."

That low-down rat! How dare he mock her? He'd be lucky if he ever got a girlfriend after they way he treated women. Sure, he had never been open to exploring things between them, and she hadn't figured it out until it was too late, too late, too late. He owed any member of the human race enough respect not to mock them after rejecting them. Sam snarled, "You're horrible."

Jake didn't look insulted. Sam stepped around to take the saddle off of Ace, but Jake moved quicker. Ace responded to his offer of the bridle. "I'm asking you to spend a half an hour with me, Sam, to figure out some of the logistics of this intern your father's getting." Sam had heard just about enough about this intern. Dad was getting funding through the same umbrella program that oversaw HARP to take on one intern to train in his footsteps of natural horsemanship and ecologically responsible ranch management. It was money in the bank, money and support they desperately needed. Dad seemed to think that she and Jake should be helping out more than Sam had time for. He never understood when she she said she was incredibly busy.

"Whatever." Sam blew out a breath, hating and loving that she had said it better than Daisy at her most bored.

Jake looked like she'd slapped him clear across the face as he looked at her, "Apathy suits you, Brat."

His use of that name set her off. She could not believe this. First he acts surprised that he doesn't know her, and then, when she finally proves that he doesn't, he ignores the lesson and steamrolls her with that name. He had no right to use it, anymore. "Well, sarcasm and verbosity are hardly your strong suits."

Sam turned to walk away. He followed after her, taking her arm. Sam wrenched it away. Jake flinched as she put more space between them. "At least I'm trying, here!"

"Oh, is that what this is? Trying?" Sam's tone left no doubt to as what she was feeling. She had been the one of them who'd tried, really tried, for a year. Maybe she should have driven out there, done more. The thoughts kept her awake, sometimes, but it was what it was. Now, it was too late, too late, too late.

"Yes." Jake forced the word through his jaw, "What do you want me to do?" He dropped his grip on Ace's reins, ground tying the horse as confusion caused him to tense.

Sam spoke, "This should come as no surprise, Jake, but I don't give a damn what you do!"

"Oh, that's real nice!" Jake said, sarcastically, stepping after her again. He circled around her. She would not turn around again.

"It's the truth!" Sam all but screamed, calming enough to continue in a measured tone, "I do not care. I could not possibly care less." She had said it to herself in the mirror, as a mantra, for the words to become toneless, statements of fact. The shock registered on his face, and it was a different expression from the dimmed pain she saw in the mirror.

Jake's eyes dimmed. He stepped forward, "What's that supposed to mean?"

Sam's eyes flooded with hot tears as she spoke, "It means I don't even have the emotion left to hate you, anymore."

He turned on his heel quickly, then, and he took Ace with him. She was alone. This time, she wasn't sad. She'd done it, this time. She wasn't a victim. They didn't speak for six days, nine hours, forty-three minutes, and thirteen seconds. Not that anyone's mind kept track.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

When they did speak again, their relationship was cold, distant, and in tatters. She saw him out running some nights, most nights, and took to taking a different path. They walked past each other at Clara's and it was like they were strangers. Pepper referred to them as "SamandJake" like they were kids again, and she hid in the tack room until she could breathe again because it felt like a punch in the gut.

Things went on as they were, tense and miserable, for weeks. Summer began to wane, and with it it took Sam's resolve. This was so hard, so horrible. Sometimes, she had to check herself, after she realized that she was skulking around the barn just to hear him talk to Dad and Dallas. It was a low in her life that she didn't like to contimplate. Sam needed an outlet. Running wasn't cutting it, and to be honest, there was only so much solace her horses could provide. They were fighting an uphill battle, because the very person she was seeking to avoid was right next to her, day and and day out. Still, she didn't say a word, and what's more, neither did Jake.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

By the time the second quarter of school rolled around, Jake finally was hired by Ballard, when McAvoy went to Alabama. He got assigned graveyard. It was another reason not to sleep, Sam figured. Daddy installed a scanner the kitchen and the barn, and he and Jake often had it on when they worked in the barn. He'd tell Dad about the codes, and what they meant, what had happened at academy, in part, and things like that. Sam bit back a thousand questions a day. She knew Jake knew. She could see the hurt in his eyes, but the gap was too wide. She wouldn't jump. He wouldn't catch her, that much she knew. He hadn't the last time, and she hadn't even known that she'd taken the leap then. She knew now, and she knew how much it hurt to hit the rocks.

Sam camped out in the barn when she felt alone and desperate just because she needed to feel close to something. This crushing isolation, loneliness, was the price she'd pay. She didn't know it was going to be so steep, but there was this whole facet of her world that no one knew anything about. She couldn't talk to Dad about her work with Witch, and she would die before she said, "I want to feel nothing, but all I feel is hurt." She felt close to Ace and Witch. She didn't feel isolated with them, trapped into a silence of her own making.

Sometime after Ace and Witch slept, Sam stared at the crack in the stall door. She wanted to get up. She had to get up. Without really considering it, she flipped the scanner on, and turned the volume down. The channel was correct, Sam knew, as soon as she heard what was going on. It was the county sheriff's scanner station. There was a domestic call, and then somebody was threatening somebody else with something. It was all the other side of the county.

Sam was seconds away from shutting the thing off in a huff, when the voice she was at once both dreading and dying to hear came across the line. Sam couldn't really follow, until she figured that Jake pulled somebody over for driving on a dirt road with no lights on and a big spotlights. He'd found poachers, idiots who came on the off season, even. Sam was wide awake, then, listening as he handled it calmly. The guy was half-drunk and easily detained. Sam extrapolated a lot from a few words over the radio. She listened, for hours, as scant few Jake's calls mixed with others. Finally, she heard him report that he was heading back in, and quickly shut off the radio. She didn't realize that Witch was staring at her as she bolted for the house.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Sam would never tell, but that radio dominated her life as much as her horses did, like two sides of a pendulum that she was holding onto, desperate for equilibrium. She slept in the barn more often, just because it gave her an excuse to stay awake when she couldn't sleep. Jake occasionally got a day shift when someone called off. Kenny, who had a deep voice, and tended towards long pauses when spelling things, called off one day to take his kids to a theme park. Jake got the shift. Sam only found out because Pepper mentioned it when he turned on the scanner like it was his daily soap. Jake never told her anything, and she would never ask. The barn was stifling in the early winter sometimes is, and Dad and Pepper were fixing a wall. Sam was brushing Ace. The radio was comfortable background noise, until Sam's heart stopped. She could hear the sirens in the distance, thick in the air as her head spun.

McAvoy's former partner Billy, who liked to say a'yup quite a lot, was on a call. Sam pictured him as being a stereotypical cop, with a doughnut fetish. His voice broke over the radio, his lazy composure gone as he advised dispatch to the need for backup. Some with warrants out his ears was evading arrest, and was armed with some sort of shotgun. They pulled out all the stops. Just when the dispatch called for all available units, Sam did the only thing she could. She led Ace out of the stall. If she pulled the the plug out of the wall as she walked past the outlet, she didn't care. This was no game, not anymore. It never had been.

Ace was sober company as Sam thought about going over to Harmony. She couldn't go there, even though it was November and freezing. She and Ace took a ride to nowhere. Sam didn't realize that she was at the boundary between Three Ponies and River Bend until Ace stopped. She'd given him leave to direct them as he pleased. She thought that they'd end up at the lake because Ace loved it there, and she had looked forward to tossing herself into the lake's frigid depths, even if she got hypothermia. She needed to feel. Her hair was heavy, even pinned up, and she was thinking about cutting it. Instead, Ace had brought her to the rise, where if you looked over, you were able to see cars coming into Three Ponies. She sat, transfixed, until a blue Scout came up the road.

Ace got them home safely, because Sam knew she wasn't thinking. Her mind kept playing over, and over and over, "I couldn't care less!" and she knew that the last real thing she'd said to him had been a lie. Leave it to Ace, her goofy goober of a horse, to make her realize that she cared. She still cared, too much. Sam wondered if it would ever stop, or would she be here, ten years later, on the fringes of his life, but secretly longing to be in the center of it all?

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Christmas was a blip on her radar. There was an ice storm. Life went on. She passed a math exam with a B+ and no tutor. Witch was, as ever, brutally honest. She gave Sam no quarter, stepping on her feet when she was distracted, or pushing into her shoulder when she wanted to cry. This was worse than before. They couldn't even be in the same room anymore and so Sam hung out in the barn. She wasn't depressed. She was busy. She and Witch were still working on their riding. She rode over to Harmony one day and Jen looked at her. "Can you believe it?"

"Hm?" Sam asked, distractedly. Witch was being particularly testy lately. Sam shifted a bit, and ran her fingers through Witch's mane as they rode along, meandering because it was a saturday in February and nobody wanted to admit that winter was really deeply here by going inside and warming up.

Jen pulled Silly into a complete stop, "You don't know." Witch caught something of interest in her gaze, and Sam had to walk her in a circle. The snow crunched under her hooves.

She came to a stop, "What?"

"Jake's gone and gotten another horse." Jen said, softly, "I heard tell that he got a really great horse from some guy, Charlie, over near his grandfather's." She urged Silly into a slow walk, "I guess he finally got tired of fighting with you over Witch. Congratulations, Sammy."

Witch's gate was smooth, even as Sam felt like the sky had fallen. All that came out was a broken sob. Jen looked at her quickly, "Oh."

"Dust, is all." Sam lied, trying to sill her tears, "I think I'm getting allergies." The tears on her face started to freeze.

Witch tossed her head, "Personally, I think all women should be born allergic to human males."

Sam was done. Witch was misbehaving and she was a mess. She couldn't be the kind of rider witch needed because her life was a mess. She knew she was messed up, getting some sort of something out of messing with Jake, but she would have sworn on a Bible that he enjoyed it, too. She thought, just sometimes, that he would be vibrant with energy, trying to outsmart her as she ditched his sorry self across the range. It was the only thing she had left, and now she didn't even have that. The cord of three strands, them, their horses, and their land, had finally snapped. "I have to go, Jen."

Sam raced off without another word, trying out outrun her tears. Her hair flopped down miserably and she realized something when Witch was thundering across the range towards home. Jake was done. This was his goodbye. A hope she hadn't known she had been harboring was crushed, like a pebble under a tire. The remnants of it formed burrowed into the bedrock of her soul, like an aching and gaping crack in cement.

Witch didn't let her cry. She veered into a hard left, towards Three Ponies. Sam gave her a command, "Witch. No."

Witch slowed, snorting as if to say, "Girl, you asked for my assistance. It would behoove you to take it."

Sam sighed, "Who am I kidding? I was never a match for you."

Witch dropped into a walk, obeying Sam and heading in the other direction. "You've only become less than what you really are because you stopped even making a modicum of effort to try. Maybe I was wrong about you. They say horses are flight animals. I've never met anybody so keen on running."

Sam went home and Witch pertly ignored her. She stared into space until Dallas flickered the lights and asked if she was okay. At that, Sam wandered out to see Penny. Penny knew a lot. Maybe Penny could fix this, give her perspective. She spoke softly to the horse, feeding her a treat. Penny was solid and comfortable in a way that Sam needed. She felt jittery in her own skin. She realized that Penny needed her blanket fixed and easily accommodated her while Pepper mucked her stall quickly.

For Sam, the cold was bolstering. It echoed that she could still feel. She ran her gloved hands over Penny, and knew that there was more than one way to see things. This new horse was irrefutable, in its meaning, but Sam knew she could control her reactions. Equine Yoga had taught her one thing, and that one thing was to appreciate the moment. She had not appreciated all of the moments she'd had with Jake, because she'd believed in her heart that they would never end. He had been home nine months, and they were completely gone, things of the past.

Sam knew, too, that she was in control of herself. She could not protect herself from this. How many times would she allow herself to feel so completely abandoned and alone? No. She would not allow this, not again. She knew what she needed to do.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

She waited three days, gave him yet another chance to say something. He didn't, why she didn't know. He wasn't even around. She didn't turn on the scanner. Sam drove the back way. She didn't want to run into the new horse. It was probably lovely, if he'd had the guts to replace Witch. Sam didn't even know why she was doing this. It occurred to her that she really was a glutton for punishment. She felt the tool in her pocket and knew that this was the only choice to be made. She had to honor Witch. She had not done anything to be abandoned like this, even if Sam had. Sam threw the truck in park, and unwrapped her fingers from the wheel. She rarely crossed the threshold to this barn anymore.

Still, she did it now with steel in her spine. She counted five stalls, noted the plaque on the door, and dropped to her knees in front of it. She had given him this, one of her first metalwork pieces, as a replacement for the name-card that each stall door had. Jake had smiled at her, and agreed that Witch needed something as special as she was to mark her home, though the Jake she'd known would never say the words. Sam thought she'd read it in his eyes, but she knew she'd been wrong.

This was not Witch's home, anymore. She was not alone, though. Sam would go to the mat for her if it was the last thing she ever did. Witch deserved that much. Her screwdriver was working on the second screw when a voice broke into her thoughts, "What are you doing?"

Sam didn't bother to answer Quinn. He could see, and saying anything would only be a waste of time. The screw dropped into her palm as Quinn spoke again, "I just asked you what you were doing."

"One would think," Sam said, stridently, "That it's obvious." She pulled out the third screw quickly and set to work on the fourth. "Call the cops if you've got a problem."

There were footsteps behind her and Sam knew that Quinn was leaving. She finished her work and pocketed the screws. The plaque was heavy in her hands, and she stared at the imperfections. The imperfections had made the art beautiful. The spot on the stall door where it once had been proudly displayed left a stark discoloration, much like remnants of anything might.

Sam knew she had wasted too long staring when two sets of footsteps returned quickly. Sam knew she couldn't walk away now. It was not Jake with Quinn, but Luke. Quinn was just as low as his brother. "...a mess, Dad. You know that..."

Luke held up his hand, cutting off his son. "It is not your place, Quinn, to get involved." Luke looked at her, and Sam minded her posture, consequences of the plaque in her hand.

Sam didn't know what to say. The plaque was Witch's, and Witch was now irrefutably hers. She did not waver under Luke's consideration. The screws were not hers, though. They were Ja- They belonged to Three Ponies. Sam palmed them, and extended them, carefully. She could not give into the urge to hug Luke. They had their own lives, now. "These are yours."

"Sam." Quinn bit out, "You have no idea what you're doing." His posture was as tense as Luke's was resigned.

"Maybe not, but I'm doing it all the same." Sam replied, turning to walk away, when Luke called out.

His words were measured, "There will always be a spot for that plaque here, Samantha, should you feel secure in entrusting it to Jake again." Sam knew they weren't talking about the plaque at all, nor even the horses. Sam wondered how much of her life she had spent so sickeningly transparent. Her heart was finally back in her own hands, even if it was as cold and detached as metal.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Jake marched into the barn at 7:42. Sam saw Witch perk up in only the way that she did when he was around. She didn't even know for sure, but Witch never led her astray, no matter how foolish the horse thought she was. "Well, Witchy, what's say we hold our ground?"

Sam had about thirty seconds to wait, as Witch stepped away from her, after being brushed and groomed. She would never have expected what happened next. Sam found herself pressed gently into the wall behind her. Jake's brown eyes looked down at her as he loomed over her. "Do you know what happens to horse thieves?"

"No." Sam hissed, angry and trying to think. He had no right to be in her space, to touch her with such gentleness. She knew that if this were work related, he wouldn't be leaning into her space, his eyes tracking every time she inhaled. She thought about getting free. It would be easy. One shift of her weight would have him stepping away, but she didn't do it. He wasn't holding her down. There was no force. She wanted this, whatever it was. She was a glutton for punishment because she knew that this might be the only time in her entire life that he pressed her up against a wall with fire in his eyes. Sam tried not to lean into his warmth as their breath mixed in the cold air.

"You ought to." Jake said, his gaze burning into her, as he pressed into her, "You really ought to. What the hell is your problem with me, Sam? She doesn't even like being at Three Ponies, and then I come home to find her plaque gone."

Her coat brushed his chest, and Jake pushed back one strand of curls with his free hand. The affectionate gesture threw her off. Sam was beyond being reserved and circumspect with her words, "Maybe, Jake, have you ever throughout that she doesn't know if you'll leave again, that's she doesn't trust you anymore, doesn't want to be open to that kind of pain, ever again? Have you considered that maybe moving on is the best thing for m- her?"

"What?" Jake let go, and stepped back. Sam straightened and pulled her jacket down.

"I don't want to talk to you." She moved away. Jake shook his head, and muttered something. Darn right she never did. "What?"

Jake recovered and returned quickly, "No, you just want to make my life hell and scream at me."

Considering they hadn't had a real conversation in almost 600 days, that was a pretty bold assertion. Sam rolled her eyes. If she was saying something, she thought, let me figure out what it was, "Are you listening yet?"

"I can't even understand what you're saying." Jake said. "I'm real close to being done trying."

"As if you've ever tried." Sam asserted, ignoring the urge to walk away. This was it. She needed to stick this discussion out because she knew, deep in her soul, that this was the last time.

"I did. You have no idea what I did." Jake replied, "I don't have to justify my choices to you Sam, not when I made them for us."

"Don't give me that!" She nearly screamed, "Don't you dare give me that! At least give me the respect of honesty!" He didn't need to soften the blow by pretending there had been anything about them but a 'him' and a 'her.' There had never been an us, and to use that an excuse for his silence was beyond unreasonable.

Jake cocked an eyebrow, "The same honesty you gave me, when you marched into my barn and stole my horse?" Jake shot back, calmly in the way that only he could be in a situation like this. Anyone else would have been screaming.

"You don't love her!" Sam's rational mind shut off, and she was honest to a fault, "You moved on! You moved on, without even telling anyone about it, leaving me to figure it out myself. You abandoned everyone and everything that ever knew you, or loved you, or even wanted nothing more than to try! You did that, Jake, not me! You want her when you want her, and when you don't, well, let's not go there." Sam knew that she was shaking. "And let's face it, nobody wants to spend their life wondering why they weren't enough or even worth a postcard. It's hell."

Jake looked at her, baffled and shocked, "So. What you're saying..." He exhaled, "is that I need to let her trust me again." He straighten up again, and was looking at her earnestly.

Sam shook her head, "I think it's pointless. She's happy." She had learned to be happy. It was a hard lesson, but it had been well earned. He no longer had any portion of her life, or her heart, just the parts that she refused to give credence to by thinking about.

He cleared his throat. It sounded clogged and raw, "There's one thing you're wrong about Sam. So wrong I don't even..." Jake frowned, and shook his head. "You are too much." With that, Jake walked away.

Sam cried loud, gasping, ugly sobs, with tears and snot and an awful headache. Her knees gave way, and Witch, for once, didn't look at her with accusing eyes. Her sobs resounded in the empty barn. The end, Sam discovered, wasn't a loud fight. It was a sigh of resignation, and a whispered, "You are too much."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Life was one giant April Fool's Day joke, that went on and on because no one would scream "April Fools!" Dad piled mountains of work on her as Spring took hold on the high desert. In one month, the new intern would be arriving. Sam was tasked with getting everything ready for his arrival. She tried to avoid Jake. There was nothing left to say. She tried to structure her chores so that he wouldn't be the first and last person she saw but he was always around. He gave her her space, but if she was cleaning tack, he was mixing feed not three feet away. If she was sweeping, he was fixing something. It was like they were confined in this space, and so Sam figured that they'd better make the best of it.

He spoke softly, using measured tones, much like he always had. Sam didn't think anything of the fact that, by the end of April, she relaxed when they were together. Sam kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. He was only being nice because the work needed to be done and she tried not to become lost in the safety and joy of the part of her soul that screamed for her to try again whenever she saw him. They didn't say much of anything to each other, but the silence wasn't chocked with unspoken words. Sam had said her piece, screamed and railed at him and it was over. In a whisper, it was over. Her heart was still beating. The world still spun on its axis. It was over, but she wasn't.

Sam looked up when Jake appeared in the doorway. He held up a bag of Peanut Butter M&M's. "These are for you." He extended the bag to her, and his fingers brushed the back of her wrist. Sam tried to ignore the blood that rushed through her face at that simple contact. She dropped the bridle on the table and tore into the bag.

Jake looked at her reassuringly. Sam extended the bag, "Want one?"

He smiled. "No." Sam thought about the smile, one that was directed at her, for days after the fact. She was, naturally, in a bad mood with herself. She was still looking for signs of something that had never been there. What was she, seven?

M&M's didn't fix everything but they were a nice gift from Gram. Sam was preparing a Basics of Natural Horsemanship folder for Robbie when he arrived. The new intern was interested, but knew next to nothing, so Dad said it was her job to get him started. The vote of confidence was amazing, and gave her reasons to hide in her bedroom and avoid Jake.

She was more comfortable with him now. She wanted to be around him, as she always really had. She wanted to be with him, see the world next to him, and that scared her, just as it ticked her off. Could it be that her anger had really been loss? Had she really been mourning him, their relationship? Now that it was over and she had accepted that, she had begun to wonder if they could be friendly on a more regular basis, as they had been for the last few weeks.

She was looking over the final list when she noticed that she didn't have a list of bonding behaviors and excursuses. She made one quickly. She wrote about appropriate touching, and spending time in safe spaces together, wrote about providing support but not crowding, letting the horse set the limits as a matter respect.

Her scream echoed in the house as the pen ricocheted around the room. Dad was baffled as she rushed down the stairs and out of the house, grabbing her boots by the door. Gram held him off as Sam bolted for the barn. Moments later, she and Witch were flying across the range. She needed to think. She needed to feel. She needed to think her feelings out. It wasn't right, she knew, to believe with blinding intensity that someone loved you, because she knew that she was reading Jake's actions incorrectly. Even after all of this time, she still wanted him to love her. She was so gullible that she was willing to believe that he did at the slightest provocation. A bag of M&M's was not a declaration of eternal love, nor was the quiet way he'd supported all of her individual efforts to get ready for Robbie. Gentle brushes of his hand weren't invitations for affection. They were accidents, thoughtless and meaningless. He didn't dream about them.

As they slowed to a walk, Witch tossed her mane, and stomped a dainty hoof, "It is quite sweet in his own misguided way."

"No, he can't have been trying that." Sam shook her head, the spring wind whipping around her, "I'm a person."

"And what" Witch exhaled as a hawk called from above them, "Does he understand? Horses? Or human women? He is courting you as a horse might attempt to bond with another horse. However, he has not displayed any real courting behaviors. There has been no aggression or invitations. He has not even attempted to sniff you. He must need lessons, though I've often wondered how humans go about that. Better yet, don't tell me. It is clear you do not know."

"Shh, Witch." Sam soothed. Witch noticed everything, and sometimes she got invested in them, as horses were wont to do. Ace still had trouble with garbage bags. He always gave them the side eye.

"You could try 'I love you.'" Witch turned round to nuzzle at Sam's leg. "Is that not what humans do before they mate?"

"I love you, too, Witchy." Sam replied, patting her with affection.

"Not me, you idiot girl!" Witch huffed, and nibbled at her pant leg like she might another horse's mane. "What does it matter if you love me? It is impossible not to love me. I am a Goddess."

Sam laughed at her horse's antics. Her heart was heavy, and still she laughed.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Witch's quicksilver hooves carried them to the Playa. It was freeing and glorious. Sam knew that they would mend their friendship. She was willing, she decided to tell him some things her pride had not allowed her to do in the previous months. But fi he had extended himself to allow her to feel comfortable with him, even when she had not really been uncomfortable, she would try. Sometimes, Sam realized, respecting yourself was about ending things well. Even if they could not rebuild some semblance of their friendship, she owed it to herself to be as honest with him as she could be. Not for his sake, but for own.

Maybe one day, she'd tell him about one time, many years ago, she'd been in love with him. Maybe she would smile as she said it, bumping into him at the grocery store with a cart full of children that didn't have dark hair and mustang eyes. Maybe she would go home, and tell those children that that was the man who had given them the horse they'd learned to ride upon. Maybe, too, she would tell them when they were older about what having a lost love had taught her. Maybe she'd try to explain how she'd come to understand that her expectations were not anyone's responsibility but her own, no matter how much she loved them. Hopefully, they would learn from her the benefit of self-honesty. Maybe they would understand that while relationships changed, that there was always something to be learned. Maybe they would understand that there came a time to learn, and a time to teach. There was a time, too, to move forward, to recognize human frailty and move beyond the hurt. This was that time.

Witch was right. She couldn't run anymore. There was nowhere left to go but inside herself. She had tried yoga, and running, and crazy horsemanship. She had tried it all, but she had never tried just letting go and trusting things to come out okay.

Sam heard the hoofbeats before she saw him. With a smile, she looked at Witch. "Think we ditch out tail, Witch?" Sam asked, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. She heard Digger's hoofbeats coming. Jake was moving slowly, clearly looking for her. He'd said his goodbye. Now, she'd say hers, with joy and a smile. She'd say goodbye the way they'd said hello all those months ago.

Witch's ears pricked as Digger approached, and she started to move at Sam's signal. They trotted along, clearly sending a message to Jake, who called out "Sam! Wait up!"

She didn't look back. She heard rather than saw Digger accelerate. Why was he still using Digger if he had a new horse? In response, she and Witch did the same. It turned into a full out game of cat and mouse, as their rides had become, when things were better between them. Back when he first came home, she would sneak over to Three Ponies, leave Jake in the dust, and bring Witch to River Bend. The twilight was bright above them as Sam and Witch evaded Jake. Once he was no longer on their trail, they slowed down and crossed onto Forester land.

"Darn!" Sam muttered under her breath. "That rat!" Her elation plummeted, as she saw Jake leaning against the stairs of the front porch. He must have just come straight here, and not sought her much at all. She had not met her goal of beating him here.

Witch blew out a breath, and Sam took it to mean, "Shall we continue to evade him, as you are a worse flight animal than I, you silly child?"

"No, Witchy." Sam instructed with a slight signal, "Easy... We'll turn you out and you can play with with Ace, okay?"

Witch snuffled as they entered the yard. "My leisure activities hardly constitute playing. I am not a foal. It is not my fault your horse tries to rope me into his antics. We will address your abysmal grammar at at a later date. I require some libation."

Trying her best not to look at the approaching cowboy, Sam grinned as Witch slurped at the water trough, "Not too much, okay?"

Witch stepped away from the water, "As you wish. I demand an apple. Fetch me some apple slices, girl. I can smell them in your pockets."

Sam laughed as Witch nuzzled her body, clearly seeking a treat. "I haven't got a treat for you, Witch. Later."

Jake's voice reached her ears as his body pressed near to hers. He stuck out his palm, flat, and offered a pre-made treat to Witch. "Taking the long way doesn't always pay, does it, Brat?" Jake whispered. A bolt of something electric shot down into her, as his breath tickled her hair.

Sam didn't reply as she backed away. With a finely tuned hand signal, she gestured, and Witch followed her towards the pasture. "Witch." His voice was firm, "Your treat."

Witch's gait was full of sass as she ignored him of her own violation. Sam nearly laughed because unless Witch was making a point about something, she never turned down a treat. She slid the gate back into place with a firm click and hopped to sit on the gate. Sam schooled her face.

Jake approached, seemingly at ease. Sam focused on Ace, whom she was petting as he'd come up to the gate. "Hey, Ace. You're such a good boy. Having fun today?"

Ace's warm eyes told stories that Sam could not interpret. She brushed her fingers through his scrubby mane. "Silly cowpony."

Jake was next to her. Sam felt his proximity. She tried not to become lost in the fullness of the moment. At first brush, months ago, his arrival home had made her heart soar. That was, until the ride they'd shared over the range had ended. When Witch came to a stop all those months ago, so had Sam's delusions. She was not a wilting flower. She would not fall into his arms, no matter what happened. The past year had shown her that she could stick to her guns, hold her ground. Sam wondered if it was worth it, all the time, to be the one with the the hurt feelings and the higher morals.

Jake had, Sam realized, tried to say he was sorry, though she knew that he couldn't be, because he didn't know. Maybe that was her fault, alone. Deep in her heart, she touched the raw spot where the pebble had lodged into her soul and found that it really only hurt because she was not honoring what had been by letting it be what it now was. She felt hollow, and she was simply tired of being alone in her rightousness, tired of the silence. It came down to a soft sigh. She was done. There was nothing left to do, nothing left to accomplish but goodbye.

The sunset was fading around them and the lightening bugs were flickering. Sam inhaled, "It hurts, doesn't it?" She whispered, to herself, to him, to the universe, "You're confused, right? You have no idea why I keep running off, do you?"

"No." Jake was honest. His tone was bare, "But I know what it feels like."

"Good." Sam replied. She did not want to be petty or vindictive. She never really had. It was only that he had always understood, and she knew that she lived in fear that this was the one thing, the one thing in her whole life, that he would never empathize with. The feeling of loss and confusion was hard to get when you were the one shaking off the dust and leaving. She'd come to see, though, through Witch, that that was okay if he didn't understand. He would never understand her love for him, but that didn't devalue the knowledge that it had illuminated her. She had only wanted him to try to understand her. Now that he had, she could articulate it.

His hat cast a shadow over them as he turned a bit to look at her. "Good?" Jake echoed.

Sam nodded. "I think Gram made some pie. Do you want some?" This was goodbye. There was a goodbye in her offer, and Jake knew it, or she hoped he did.

"Will you sit with me?" Jake asked. He'd repeated the question she used often in their childhood. This time, it didn't hurt. They were honoring their history, without the burden of her expectations of a future. It was bittersweet.

Sam shook her head, "I think we're too big to share the chair, but I'll be around." It was all she could promise. The word "No." seemed wrong, but the traditional responses were no longer appropriate. They were not who they used to be. She would always, Sam realized, love him, want to be with him, because Jake was a part of her. It was as simple and as complex as that. She didn't want embraces, and rings, and babies. She just wanted her friend back. She wanted to feel what her horses made her feel, accepted and understood. The only trouble was that she wanted it from Jake. No one, no matter how they limited and defined their interactions, would replace him, not because of their history, but because she loved him and she couldn't change that fact. She could express it correctly, though.

She started to leave the barn, and Jake followed. He replied after a moment, "I will be, too."

He'd be around, and that was enough. Sam watched him as he stopped to speak to Witch, who was gnawing on the treat she'd previously declined. For the first time in almost two years, Sam got two pie plates out.

_Outside..._

He was making progress. Jake believed that in his soul. The last years had been hell on earth. Sam had cut him out of her life. It had nearly killed him to let her walk by him in public places and not be able to smile, to do anything to acknowledge what she was, and would always be, to him. It killed him to not slide into her booth at Clara's and steal her french fries just to make her smile. Jake believed that she was angry. He thought he understood.

Then, when she'd said that she she didn't have the energy to hate him anymore, he got scared as hell. Anger was merely the flip side of love, or so Grandpa had advised him a hundred times, after he'd yelled at him for not calling. It meant she felt something. The apathy that spilled forth from her passionate soul had him running laps, trying to figure out how you could screw something up so badly when all you were trying to do was keep it right. Those months had been agony.

He wasn't going to lie. He'd been mad at her, too. Angry that she had so little faith in him, furious that she was castigating him for making the best choice out of a handful of bad choices. He couldn't find the words to tell her. The riot of emotions had changed again within him, the morning he'd caught her wrapped up in a blanket, asleep, listening to the scanner.

Pepper said Sam did it several times a week. Jake realized then, that he loved her, still. Love didn't just run away. It withered, and it died. Their love, though, it had lived. It had changed. She cared if he was safe on the job. She cared enough to forgo sleep and sit in the barn. She loved him. It wasn't a romantic love, but it was vibrant.

He knew that when he first came home, that she had been going through some stuff. She blushed, and she stammered, and tripped, and make recidivous verbal slips. He did the same things, but she'd never seen, never noticed. The fact that she still loved him in some way had given him hope. His life was empty without her.

Then, when she'd freaked out because he'd started working with a horse for Robbie, he really understood. She felt abandoned. Their conversations had never, ever, for one second, been about Witch. Witch was chill. She got things. The idea that Sam believed that she wasn't enough had felt like a kick in the gut, like she'd torn out his soul, stomped on it, and decided she wanted to go back to San Fran.

He'd been desperate that night, for a plan, after he'd nearly lost control of his resolve in the barn. It had taken everything he had not to kiss her, when she was pressed up to the wall like that. He needed a plan. He had nothing. Witch had come up with it because she thought he was foolish and stupid anymore. She had reminded him of how to build a real, trusting relationship when he'd been doing reflexology with her. He never wanted to manipulate Sam, but he needed her to see that she could trust him when he said that he was never leaving again, that for all of things he had put her through, he hadn't understood what it would mean to her. He had to learn to think about her, as her own person, with her own way of thinking and feeling, with her own set of meanings. Witch had showed him that. He owed her one, "Thanks, Witchy."

She scoffed, blowing air out of her nostrils as she nuzzled him for another treat, "Don't call me that."

Jake turned to walk away, and Witch nickered, "For the love of God, say you're sorry!"

Jake turned and nodded. He needed to say the words, and tell Sam some things. Jake hoped that Sam would understand that he loved her, as a man loved the woman he wanted to build a life with. That had always been his motivation, even though he'd messed up by not saying something before he'd left. He knew that she didn't feel that way, and that was okay. He just wanted his friend back, and if that was the only way he could build a life with Sam, it would be enough. It would have to be.

_It's another tequila sunrise_

_Starin' slowly 'cross the sky, said goodbye_

_It's been so long_

_Oh, and it's a hollow feelin' when_

_It comes down to dealin' friends_

_It never ends_

_Take another shot of courage_

_Wonder why the right words never come_

_You just get numb_

_Taqulia Sunrise, The Eagles_


	3. Take it to the Limit

Witch, it seemed, didn't much like Boomer. He sniffed around her, and she looked down her autocratic nose at him. She looked at Jake as if to say, "You left again, and came home with this?" She had been acting like that since he'd been home from the training course. "What use to me could he ever be?" Boomer visited her at least once a day, and she looked down her nose at him, no matter what.

Boomer sniffed at Witch, and gave her a loopy grin. She switched her tail and walked off. Jake picked up the pail he'd set aside and called to Boomer, "Hier."

Boomer, as always, came and was praised for it. "Sorry about her. She'll come around. What do you say to some dinner after we clean up?"

Jake knew that Witch would come around. Sam had, or at least, they were working on it. They were talking. Their conversations were often stilted, but they plowed through anyway. Jake was proud of that. He kicked at a tuft of grass, just because he could, and watched as Boomer made a fool of himself, zooming around now that he was off duty.

Jake headed for the barn, calling to Boomer. Boomer bounded over, and they set about cleaning the tack room. Boomer wasn't much help. He gnawed away at a toy, grasping it between his paws and giving off contented growls every few moments. Jake left him to it. He owed Boomer. Boomer changed so much for him.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

After that night when Sam had given him the last of the pie, their relationship shifted in ways Jake could not quantify. The next few weeks had been hard for him, in that he had to do his darn best not to shadow her and beg her to talk to him all of the time now that she finally was. He wanted, more than anything, to be near to Sam. It was like the sun was out in his life after eons of waiting for the sunrise. His life felt warm, and sometimes, blinding in its intensity. They were talking again. There were heavy moments, sure, when something would come up. Maybe they hadn't addressed everything, but a softly said but honestly meant, "I'm sorry..." meant everything. It meant everything, because she'd replied, "I know." and he knew that she really did.

They'd had six weeks. It was the start of something Jake hoped was forever. Life was good in that it was better. There were no emotional upheavals. Things were steady. Level. It blew. He thought daily about doing something to shake it up. Of course, he'd never told Sam that he loved her. He wanted to say it, but the words died on his tongue. He would not burden her with that. She wanted friendship, and she would have it.

Then, he'd gotten the call. Ballard flat out told him that he was up for assignment to some unit. Jake knew that, being a small department, they all did what they could to wear as many hats as possible. Because he was young, Ballard said, and not likely to leave, they wanted him to take on a pretty long commitment. Jake jumped at the chance to become a K9 handler, only to realize that it would mean a month away from home, being matched up with a dog, and completing his own training for search and rescue as well as the standard K9 stuff.

This time, though, when Witch 'accidentally' bumped into Ace on the range, Jake told Sam what was going on, even though he didn't have all of the answers. In that six weeks, more questions arose than anything. Sam was herself, but she was different, too, assertive in a way that sometimes bordered on prickly, and quieter. She seemed surprised surprised to hear him reply from her half the time, even when she'd just said his name.

He didn't recall what words he'd used, because Witch had been using up all of his contradiction. She kept trying to weave, pulling in too close to Ace, bumping his shin into Sam's. Sam blushed, when Witch tossed her head, though why, Jake couldn't understand. He'd tried to make it better. He said, "What'd you do to my horse?" It had been a poor attempt at a joke.

"I didn't do anything." Sam said, competently guiding Ace away to give Witch space. He was cheesed that she wasn't listening to him, and knew that they'd have to work this out in the ring. Witch needed to communicate something.

Witch, of course, wanted to follow Ace. Jake wanted to let her, but he didn't. "Come on. You know what I mean."

"Do I?" Sam snapped, "Let's talk about what I've done with your horse, hm?" In some cases, she got prickly about everything really fast. Jake was losing his footing. Sam was clearly getting ready to bolt, to leave him to stew in his own mistakes again.

"Sam." Jake pleaded, "I..." The wind blew, and Jake was glad that it hid his heavy inhalations.

"Get off." Sam said. She dismounted from Ace's back quickly, and looked up at him. Witch stilled with a slight command from the reins. "I'll prove it. Ten bucks says I get on and she stops."

Jake didn't know what that would prove, so he said, "I don't want money." The summer sun made her hair seem more red than usual, and Jake fought the urge to tug those chopsticks she loved away with a flick of his wrist. He thought about pulling them out all of the time. He wanted her, in any way, and in every way, she was comfortable with. Somehow, he didn't think she'd be cool with him asking her to take her hair down.

Sam, futile the attempt was, glared at him. "What do you want, then?" He dismounted, and watched as she swung easily into his saddle. She'd ridden Ace bareback, making tentative fun of him for his use of tack. All of their conversations were tentative, like she was afraid he was going to bolt, even as he feared the same thing.

"Promise you'll answer the phone when I'm away." Jake prompted, "That's all." He lived in terror that she wouldn't. That she wouldn't be there, like he hadn't been here. It had taken two years, though, and they were growing up. Sometimes, Jake realized, you had to ask for what you wanted, even if you knew you shouldn't get it.

Sam's mouth dropped open. She shut it quickly. "That's assuming you call." With that, she and Witch continued on their ride. Jake was stunned into silence when Sam didn't, for the first time in forever, take the chance to run off. She stayed. And, if there had been money on the line, she would have been $10 richer. Witch behaved for her, and that ticked Jake off.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

He kept his word. He called. He texted. He sent pictures. Sam answered, and replied, and sent pictures of her own. During those weeks, they said more to each other via text than they'd said in the entire preceding year. Sam was a writer. She liked words, and Jake kicked himself for forgetting how verbose she could be in text.

He told her about Boomer. He was a good dog, little more than an overgrown puppy when he wasn't suited up. The German Shepard was all legs and smiles. They gelled as partners. Jake was stoic, he knew, that was putting it mildly, but Boomer was just like his name implied, a ball of energy when he wasn't working, and sharp as laser when he was. It was like a giant boom was trying to go off when Boomer tensed, though he was always controlled when he did. When he let his guard down, though, the dog was a goofball, growling and humming over a rope toy. The feed room was clean, and so he said, "Boomer."

Boomer picked up his toy, and carried it outside, tail waggling. His tail still seemed too big for his body. He regularly tripped over it when he was offered a treat. Despite his personality, he was trained to be totally unflappable. Jake had been scared out of his mind when he first came home with Boomer. The trainers weren't there, anymore, and he lived in terror for the first three weeks that somehow, he'd ruin Boomer and lose his dog and his job in one fell swoop. Mom said it was like having a baby, but he didn't think so, because if there had been a baby he would have been able to ask Sam what the heck he was supposed to do now.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Jake headed into the house. "Boomer." The dog hopped to it and came quickly. He scrambled up towards the window. Jake smiled as he went to the kitchen.

Boomer was looking at the truck, as if to say, "We're eating here, again?" This was Boomer's home, as it was his, though things were a little complicated because of how much Boomer grew to love Sam. Sam loved Boomer, though, and the day they'd met had been pretty memorable. It was, by then, early July.

He'd pulled up in the Scout, and Sam had been nowhere to be seen. Pepper, he recalled, had asked him about Boomer. Jake didn't remember what he'd said. He'd wanted to see Sam. He saw Sam's over-shirt hanging on a post, and he grabbed it. Jake had an idea seconds before he passed it to Boomer, "Go find! Go find, Boomer!"

Oddly enough, the police commands were in German, but the search and rescue commands were in English. Jake had no idea how on earth Boomer kept it straight, but he did. Jake loved to watch him find. His nose went up into the air, and his big brown eyes went wide as he sniffed the air. After a few seconds, he sent off a signal that it taken Jake a while to learn. Boomer was alert. His head lost its customary tilt, and his back went straight. He started moving, and Jake knew Boomer had caught Sam's scent, something even more uniquely complex than the light scent that defined her in Jake's own mind. Boomer zoomed forward, left, right, forward, towards the barn. This was an easy test. Boomer was hardly challenged, after years of being trained in the perilous art of finding people in ravines and caves. He raced to the barn and gave a controlled bark. Jake followed at his own pace, until he heard Boomer turn back to get Jake to do the refined. After urging, "Who'd you find, Boomer? Who'd you find?" Jake allowed himself to be led to where Sam was sitting cross-legged, on a bale.

She was writing, scribbling in a notebook. The dog placed himself at her feet, and looked up triumphantly. "Good boy, Boomer!" Jake replied. Jake pulled the ratty squeaker toy from his pocket and gave it to Boomer, "Good boy!"

The dog took it and resumed his position, making the toy squeak with abandon. It was a toy he often got as a reward. Food was never a reward. Boomer would eat even if he flunked out of his job, even if he turned his back on his work. He would always have a standard of living that was unearned.

"You're back." Sam said, slowly. She unfolded her legs, and leaned forward, shutting the book.

"Just got in." Jake said, shaking off the proverbial dust as he rolled his shoulders. Two words from her were a balm to his soul, and he wondered how he had ever survived without hearing it, "I, uh, missed you."

A strange look crossed Sam's face, and Jake recalled wondering what he'd missed. She slowly replied, "May I pet him?"

"He's not working now." Jake said, wondering why she hadn't answered him. "He's just a dog, Sam. Just a dog."

"I've been dying to meet him." Sam whispered, running her fingers over the dog's caramel hair. "I counted the moments." It wasn't until later that Jake realized just what she'd been saying. When he did, he floated until he tripped over his own feet.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Boomer was devoted to Sam. If he wasn't working, he was with Sam. Boomer gave Jake the excuse to come and see her, more often than not. Boomer hopped up like he was a lap dog, and lolled in her lap, giving goofy kisses whenever he could. One night, in late July, Sam was sitting in the swing at River Bend, staring at the sky that stretched on for miles. "Boomer." Jake said, "We've got to go."

Boomer tilted his head, and laid his head back in Sam's lap, using his agility training not to save someone this time, but to balance the swing's bench. He was enthralled with the task. Boomer's sigh was the most pitiful thing he could muster. "Go on, you faker." Sam said, not moving or stopping in her petting of the dog, "Night, Jake."

Jake stared at her, unwilling to leave. "Five more minutes, Boom." Sam continued to pet the dog. Jake continued to move the swing, and they sat. He stayed for another hour and was back at River Bend not eight hours later because Boomer demanded a run with Sam.

The first day it happened had been a warm morning, even with the sun barely risen. Jake heard her footfalls, and wondered if she would let him run with her. Things were still a little funny, but he relaxed when Sam grinned when she saw him. Sweat was glistening on her body, and yet, she managed to look as clean and pristine as ever. He heard the click of her iPod, "I'll beat you to River Bend."

Jake understood the offer for what it was, "What do I get if I win?" Boomer was even with him as they ran along. Jake caught up to Sam, who accelerated until they were pushing each others limits. He let her set the pace, though. After all, he was a cop. He ran, basically, for a living. Jake still didn't understand how she'd come to be an accomplished runner.

"I'll teach you how I left you in the dust." Sam offered, as their feet pounded in the dirt.

Jake grinned, it was time with her, and that was all that mattered, "Deal."

There was no more talking between them. The next week, Sam taught him some equine yoga. She said that learning to stand on her head made her feel powerful. Learning that she'd, for one second, felt powerless was a kick in the gut. She didn't say it, but he knew that what he'd done had consequences for her that he'd never imagined.

Still, meeting up at the boundary line started to be a daily thing. They didn't talk much, because she listened to music and he greeted the sun. The music she listened to changed over time. At first, she listened to a lot of pop, and oddly enough, dance music. That wasn't the music of the girl he knew, who loved Garth and George and Johnny. Over time, though, he heard the strains of Steve Earle floating from her earbuds, and wondered what that meant.

Boomer expected the activity after a week. After two, he completely ignored Jake except when commanded to comply, when they ran. His attention was wholly on Sam. Boomer matched her step for step. Jake sometimes let himself fall behind to see what Boomer would do. Boomer didn't even notice, but Sam did. She called back, "Need a little dust to go with your coffee, Ely?"

He tried not to stare at her. He failed, mostly.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

They were in the bonding period, wherein he had to spend as much time as possible with the dog. He didn't mind if Boomer wanted to be at River Bend, which he nearly always did. Boomer was cool with his lifestyle, even if he did hog the couch and sneak Doritos. Boomer continually promoted this chill attitude that Jake could never approximate in his own life. By September, some of Boomer's zen had rubbed off on him. He was like Adam Sandler in dog form. Jake felt like Rob Schneider, as the delivery man in _Big Daddy_.

He ate a mountain of food, but gave Jake looks when he had to eat it without Sam. His dog had a massive crush. He would bring Sam his favorite rope toy and look at her with those eyes that just begged her to throw it over and over. Jake used his dog's goofball crush to his advantage. He asked Sam things, tried to tell her about work, tried to see the world like she did, brightly and with much joy. It was easy to ignore the passage of time, when it was so common for him to get lost in her words, something denied to him for so long.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

There were things that he could not ignore. There was problems with Witch that he'd not taken in hand well enough. She was herding Sam. Every time they were together, Witch nudged Sam towards him. She pushed Sam into Jake's space, forcing Sam to turn around and say, "No." several times a day. Not that Jake wasn't glad of the help, but Witch had to know that that sort of behavior was not okay.

They were working this out, with an audience. Jake looked over the dark horse, and added, "Right. Robbie, what would you do now?" Robbie was a good guy. He spent the first weeks hating the very sight of him. He was, according to Jen, adorable in a rock-climbing, vegetarian, socially concious kind of way. Jake thought he wouldn't last a day. He lasted, earning the respect of every person on the outfit, if not their complete understanding of what exactly vegan work boots were. Dallas had the most trouble, and called tofu "too-foo" because he couldn't get the word right. Boomer wouldn't eat tofu. Darrell tried to feed it to him, earning a lecture from him. You didn't feed other guy's K9s.

Robbie answered correctly, and Jake was pleased that the intern was working hard and learning quickly. Witch looked at them as if to say, "This is what you've interrupted me for? How dare you bid me to stand here as though I have nothing better to do with my time." She was glaring at the lack of grass in the ring. She turned her head and looked at Sam, "You could have gone to the effort of providing refreshments."

Sam didn't much care for Robbie's discussion of respect. Jake saw it in her eyes, in the way she tensed. Sam patted Witch, "That might not always be the case, though."

Jake looked at her askance. It was a silent question. She replied, "You have to understand the reasons for their behaviors before you can address it. Jake's assumption is incorrect."

"Sam?" Jake asked, lowering his voice to keep Robbie out of the conversation. Why was she going on like this? Witch was overstepping her boundaries. She needed leadership, and half the time with him with Sam and half the time with him wasn't cutting it for the horse. They needed to be consistent.

Sam looked him square in the eye, "I'm just saying; you can't assume." Jake looked at her. She continued, frowning, "A word, please? Privately?"

"Sam." Jake followed her out of the ring, towards the house, "She's herding you around because she doesn't respect your boundaries."

"Doesn't respect me?" Sam repeated, "How dare you tell me my horse doesn't respect me. I earned her respect." A bird called, breaking into their discussion.

"And you've lost it. Sam." She was making this personal. It wasn't about her, personally. There was a problem, and it needed to be fixed. Robbie still needed to learn these skills, so he was invited in. No one was holding her up as a failure. "It's not personal."

"I'll remember that." Sam said, and Jake thought that it was over. He tried to smile. She understood and they could move forward. Sam didn't smile back.

Jake didn't know what else to say. He looked at her sunburned arms, and asked, "Can we get back to work?"

"If you want to do shoddy work, sure." Sam pulled her hat down. The sun wasn't that bright, and Jake realized that she was hiding the emotions that flared in her eyes. She was hiding her passion, her anger, whatever she was feeling.

"As you see it, Sam." She was getting upset. Witch didn't need her to get upset. Witch needed her to be in control. "Who has the upper hand here?"

"Listen, you idiot!" Jake was surprised by the vehemence in her voice. Why did she continually mishear what he was saying? "Out there, you're some big shot deputy with a dog and a gun. Out there, people kiss your behind because of a shoddy power differential. In here, though, that's over. That's done. Nobody in here submits to you because of what you are. You best remember..."

"Remember what, Sam?" Jake was angry. No one ever kissed his behind because of his job. People often did the opposite, giving him drama for just doing his job. It's not like people said, "Yes, thank you, deputy, for arresting me! Thank you so much!"

Sam's eyes narrowed and she shoved her hat back, "That a partnership is about listening."

"I'm listening." Jake insisted, stepping into her space, "Why is she herding you, then?" Her chest rose and fell, brushing his body. It was all Jake could do to listen to her words, and not to the suggestions some baser part of his brain was screaming at him to act upon.

"I'm not telling you, but we've discussed it, and she promised to stop." Her voice was shaking, but solid in a way that brooked no rejoinders. With that, Sam turned and started to walk away. He wasn't about to let that happen. Not again.

"Uh-uh." Jake replied, taking action, "You're welcome to scream at me, Brat, as much and as often as you like. Walking away isn't an option anymore." Jake made quick work of tossing her over his shoulder and heading for the confines of the empty house. They needed to talk this out. He knew that picking her up was rash, but he was careful to be mindful. 

"I have a brain in my head and feet in my shoes!" Sam spat. "Where are we going? You're such an idiot!"

Jake learned, much later, that boundaries were only helpful when you learned how to redefine them in the context of an open discussion. 

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Back in the ring, Witch huffed a breath, displeased that the fence limited her progress to follow the words of the Girl. At least He was displaying some level of communication so necessary in heard leader. Leave it to humans to bungle something so simple, "Dog! You there!"

Boomer looked back at her and nudged the big ball with his nose after he wiggled under the fence. Witch strode over to him, "Dog. As there are places that I cannot enter on this ranch, due to their horsist policies, I have decided that you are to be my vassal. You will assist me in all ways until my objective is accomplished."

Boomer tilted his head at her. She nudged him, "I do not care if this cuts into your off time. Good Lord, have you no priorities? To be sure, I would not wish to be a mother, but I would like there to be a foal about this place before they turn you into glue. I have given them two years. If they haven't come to a logical conclusion on their own by now, they never shall." She snorted shooing him away, "Now. Go. And, Dog, if you fail, I shall hide your squeaky toy, and life will be quite miserable indeed." She put her hoof over the blue toy, and made it squeak once, "You will report to me daily."

Boomer carefully rescued his toy, and did as he was bid.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Three months later, Jake would be forever grateful for that argument they'd had. They learned to fight and not take it personally. Now, it seemed they did it all the time. They argued about politics, about theology, about anything and everything. Jake thought they did it because they figured out they could. Sure, there were just as many serious moments, but it felt like Sam had realized that she could say whatever she wanted and he wasn't going to walk away or let her do it, either. There were spats all the time, now, but nobody walked away.

That isn't to say there weren't problems in their relationship. Jake often wondered if there was any room for him in Sam's life. She didn't need him anymore. She never asked him to do the things she would have expected him to do before he left. She often threw away the green and yellow skittles, like she forgot he was there to eat them. It hurt. She was competent, cool, and in-control. He felt like a teenager, again, reacting to her in ways the defied logic.

He wasn't an insecure guy. He valued Sam's independence, but many times, he found himself gritting his teeth when she took on a chore meant for two or three by herself, and saw nothing in getting it done alone. She saw nothing in disappearing for hours at a time, with Witch or Ace, like nobody was concerned about where she was, or would have liked to come along. He didn't want to be needed, exactly, but a little bit of want would have gone a long way in making him feel like less of an extra pinky on the hand that was her life.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

She rolled in after a ride one afternoon. Ace was quickly settled, and Jake caught her as she came outside. February was colder than usual, and that fact stood out in his brain as he looked at her red nose. She pulled out a tissue, and Jake hurt, because he never realized that she'd started to carry her own tissues. He stopped himself from extended the clean ones that were always in his jacket. "Sam," Jake asked, standing next to Scout, "Do you want to come to Boomer's class? He's got a lesson and I..." Boomer had a weekly class, and then a weekend intensive once a month on both Saturday and Sunday.

Sam cut him off, "I'll get my bag." She dashed into the house. Boomer looked overjoyed when Jake told him that he couldn't ride shotgun because Sam was coming along. Boomer certainly had a way with the ladies. Mom thought he was large and clumsy, but Sam, well now, she bit off people's heads when they said things she didn't like about Boomer. Boomer was three, but for Sam, he might have as well been a puppy.

After that weekend's hours of lessons, Boomer learned a new trick. Jake would say, "Go home!" and Boomer did. Boomer went home alright, sniffing the air, playing find, because home was never the same exact location when Boomer went looking. He about died the first time Boomer did it out of a training session, which just happened to be when Wyatt was around. At practice, Sam has severed as the "home" partner, and now Boomer, well... It was enough to make Jake blush.

Boomer bolted, with all due obedience, to Sam time and time again, no matter how many times Jake tried to retrain him. It didn't interfere with their work, or their search and rescue missions at all, so after a while, Jake let it go and tried to listen to his dog.

Sam, Jake realized, was Boomer's home. That was why he lolled over her, broke all the rules, treated her like she was the sun in the sky. Sam was Boomer's home. Jake learned, then, that a home wasn't a place. A person could be his home just as easily. That was clear, as Boomer preferred to spend his off time with Sam. Jake spent more time at River Bend than he did Three Ponies. It was a half-life, and he still had no idea what to do about the things Boomer was trying to tell him. He and Sam spent more time together in a few weeks than they had in years, and Jake was angry with himself for feeling like it wasn't enough.

It wasn't enough to see her for a few hours, and have to leave. It wasn't right, and he felt angry and selfish. Sam gave him friendship, a sounding board to run things by, a friend to lean on. He didn't have the right to ask for more. They were friends. Hadn't he told himself that that was enough? Now, the second he felt like they were friends again, he wanted more. He wanted more, but there was no room for him.

He wanted to come home to her after Boomer sank his teeth into some guy hiding on a roof with a knife in his pocket and murder in his eyes. He wanted to hug her when he and Boomer found a small child huddled in the brush, scared and crying for her mother. Those nights, when work got tough, he'd pray she wasn't listening in on the radio. He always felt relief when she realized that Sam had done so, because there didn't need to be words.

Early March came quickly, but the days lingered after he'd been called on to find yet another child. Sam whispered into the darkness, "You don't need to do this, Jake. You don't need to wonder if you could have found her sooner, because you did. You found her."

Jake looked over at Sam. The lights from the dashboard made her look ghostly pale, etherial, "She was just a little girl, Sam." They were staring up at the night sky from inside the cab of the truck. It was too cold to sit outside for long, but he could not take one more second of being inside.

"I know. And I'm sorry." Sam continued, eyes fixed on the North Star, "But think, when she looks back on this, she's not going to remember the fear. She's going to realize that she's not scared of the brush anymore because she's lived in it and come out okay. She's going to know what to do differently, next time."

Jake smiled, "When'd you get so smart?"

"Hm." Sam said, not looking at him for a second, "I didn't tell you anything I didn't learn the hard way." Jake knew that Sam was pushing for bravado, but he heard the truth in her voice. It hurt but her bald words made him see that they were friends again. There was trust, and there was hope. Jake slept just fine that night, for the first time in days. When he thought about Sam's words, he felt pain, and he knew that she had opened her wounds to try and help him heal his.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

He and Sam stagnated. There was no other word for it. They were friends again, but it wasn't the friendship of their childhood. It could never be. She was 18, and he was just 21. There were adult roles to navigate, work and school, and animals that demanded a home-life they could not give them. Jake was tired of waking up at the crack of dawn just switch off between the dog and the horse. Boomer seemed to think that they should spend all of their time together with Sam. Jake agreed, sometimes, when he didn't want to shout at Sam for some stupid stunt she pulled with the horses. Most of the time, it ended up that she had been right all along. 

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Jake was glad to set aside his winter jacket one morning in April. Jake reached for his hoodie, only to curse when he realized that it was at River Bend. He grabbed another and grabbed his hat. It was a good excuse as any to stop by there on his day off. "Boomer. Want to go out?"

Boomer was spread out on his bed, and Jake knew he should have kenneled the dog in the barn. The poor softy had crawled into his bed, once, though, and that had been the end of the discussion. He rolled, as if to ask where they were going, "Want to go to see Witch?" She spent more time with Sam, now that his work schedule was three days on, and then the rest of the week on-call for search and rescue and other K9 jobs.

The dog bolted to the door, as if to say, "What are you waiting for?"

So continued a pattern that stretched on for ages, well into late spring. Thank God he worked for Wyatt, or else he would have to explain, "My dog's in love with your daughter, sir. He likes to cuddle and see her first and last thing." Yeah, that would go over well. Still, there had to be some sort of solution to keep Boomer happy, keep Witch in check, which was the closest her sassy self would ever get to happy, and keep him and Sam together. He just wished he knew what it was.

"Boomer, lass das sein!" Jake said, forcefully, as Boomer tried to fit his fully grown body onto the tops of Sam's feet, using them like a chair under the table. He pointed to the door of the tack room, "Aus!"

The dog left obediently. He'd be fine outside for a few minutes. "Sorry about him."

Sam went back to polishing tack. "It's alright." She said it with a smile.

"He'd rather live with you, I think." Jake said, knowing that Boomer moped when Sam wasn't around and they weren't working. According to his trainers, Boomer wasn't supposed to be like this with other people, but since when was Boomer normal? He was potentially lethal in the field, and acted like he was a toy poodle the second his vest was off. The trainers wanted Sam to come to more sessions, just to observe her interactions with Boomer, but Jake hadn't brought it up. He saw the joy and the light that characterized her treatment of the K9 and he would not dim it, if it didn't effect Boomer's safety or their work.

"Is that allowed?" Sam asked hopefully, reaching for more polish, "Doesn't he have to live with you?"

"Sam." Jake sighed, "He's not a pet, and you can't keep him, so don't get ideas." Her rag stilled on the saddle before her.

"Well, uhm." Sam said, swallowing, "I was thinking, you know, maybe he's bored." Jake's fingers kept working on the bridle in his hand. "Maybe we should..."

Jake grinned, cutting her off, "A dog who works five days a week and does exactly what he pleases the rest of the time is bored?" Boomer had a steady rotation of people and other dogs to play fetch with, to play find with, to squeak his squeaker for. He was hardly left to languish. In fact, he took it as a personal affront when Jake kicked him out long enough to shower.

"Tell you what." Jake offered. "Come to his classes with me." Maybe they could make that a thing, or something, a routine. There would be nothing wrong with stopping for something to eat, maybe, after, or before, if she wanted to be ready to leave that early.

"I already do." Sam said, smiling in that way. Jake knew she was being polite, looking for way out. "I really can't, this weekend."

He hated that smile. She had a million others, and yet, she turned to the only one that wasn't real to deflect him. Why? "Oh?" Dread built within Jake. He knew that Robbie was a no-good, low-down, snake. He saw. He saw everything. Sam could make her own choices, and if she wanted to hang out with Robbie, it was none of his nevermind. So why did he find himself caring so much. 

"I do have a life, you know." Sam said, calmly. She gripped the rag and the saddle, rubbing with more force than was truly needed.

"I never said you didn't." Jake replied, finishing with the bridle and reaching for the next one. The leather was taunt within his fingers. There was so much hedging, here. It hurt.

"No, you just act so surprised all the time, when I'm doing something." Sam said, flatly.

It was just that every time he asked her to do something, she couldn't, or she had to modify the plans somehow. Jake couldn't take the beating around the bush anymore. "I need to know."

"What I'm doing?" Sam asked, softly. "I really don't think..." She frowned. Jake wondered what she got up to, all the time, when she said she couldn't go or wouldn't help with something or go do something.

"No, Sam." Jake said, "Is there room for me? In your life?" He looked at Sam, and inhaled, "Tell me, if there isn't." He was tired of looking for ways to fit himself in a world, in a universe, that had no place for him in the place he most wanted to be. The light above them cast a yellow glow over the workspace, and it hummed.

"What do you mean, is there room for you in my life?" Sam shot back, looking at him, "What kind of crazy..."

"It's not crazy, Sam." Jake replied, honestly. "At least give me that." He thought about all of the things they did to each other, and he knew he was at fault, too, but she had to understand that he wasn't good with things like she was. He couldn't figure this out on his own. He needed to know.

She was silent for the longest moments of Jake's life. Finally, she spoke, "I honestly don't know. I'm so used to doing things alone, anymore. I don't know." Sam frowned, "I just don't."

"Do you think there will ever be?" Jake pressed her. It felt like his soul was bleeding. He was too shocked to be angry, but he wanted to be. He wanted to know what gave her the right to shut him out like this, to just move on, leave him behind.

"I hope so." Sam whispered, "I hope one day, I'll wake up, and not be surprised when you're there, and not feel like you shouldn't help with the work because my way is better, because I'll just have to do it again alone. It sucks waiting for the other shoe to drop, Jake."

He'd given her that right, that option. In fact, he'd forced her into it. If he had known, then, that not answering one of her phone calls would have this many outcomes, he would have risked the mental anguish. But no, he'd put it off, and was dealing with it in spades now. "Do you want to be alone?" Jake asked, softly.

"Boomer would disown you." She paused, "There..." Sam cleared her throat, "There's nothing I want less. I'm sorry. This is just so hard."

He knew. It was hard on him, too. He imagined he often felt like a starving person at a buffet, dying to just dive in, all the while knowing that too much, too fast could make him very sick, if it didn't kill him outright. "Hating me was easier, huh?" Jake tried to joke amid the relief of knowing that she didn't want him to leave.

"No." Sam insisted as she shook her head, "I don't know. I never quite got there. Don't think I didn't try. Or that I'm not trying now."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Ruhig Sein." Jake said, when Boomer started to bark so that he couldn't hear the radio in the truck. He got excited, as most trained dogs did, when he heard sirens over the line. Jake thought about how every day led up to today. Sam did try. He tried, too. They tried together. Jake remembered to ask questions before jumping into something. Sam tried, he knew, to cut him slack before she hogged all the work to herself like a brick wall between them. Jake wanted nothing more than to understand, but he sometimes got caught up in wondering if she understood what it was to be him, a man who lived every day knowing without reservation that his role in life was to serve and protect, not the world, but her alone. He wondered if she understood what it meant to not be welcomed to do that where it mattered most.

Of course, he could never ask. He could never tell her that he'd become a cop to keep guys like Slocum, may he rot in jail forever, away from their homes, away from hurting the animals she cared about most. But if Sam didn't want to be alone, and neither did he, then they had to figure out how to be together and not in the half baked sort of way they were now.

Jake reflected, sometimes, when he was sitting in the patrol truck with Boomer in his seat in the back. There was little else to do. Boomer was a good dog. He'd taught Jake a lot of tough lessons in the last year that they'd been together.

Happiness, for Boomer, wasn't based on circumstance, a yes or no question. Boomer was always happy. There were degrees of happy, and Jake realized that his problem was that he was too focused on not being happy where he was to be happy there. Boomer was happy scarfing down potato chips, and he was happy chasing after some criminal. Boomer was happy today, sitting in the car. He was happy to wait, content in knowing that whatever was coming would be the coolest thing ever. Boomer taught Jake something he'd never expected to learn. There was time. There was time to figure this out, and he didn't have to hit his limits on happiness two seconds out of the gate. He wanted to. He wanted to, so badly, demand that she understand.

Jake knew, too, that he had things he needed to understand. When he'd first come home, he was so fixed on fitting back in the way he always had that he failed to understand that who they were, the world they created, had changed. Learning that lesson had made the second year triply hard. No longer was it assumed that he would be there. No longer could he assume that Sam would be there. And yet, she said she wanted to be there, with him, even when he knew she was struggling not to push him away. Jake struggled with pulling her too close.

He needed her, needed her presence in his life. She wanted him. She didn't need him. Did that matter? He didn't know. He liked to be needed. He liked to feel as though he was helpful, and vital. Was that selfish? Did she think that he he didn't want her? Nothing right made any kind of logical sense. He went from feeling thrilled that he had her back again, to wondering if he really did. He flip flopped between feeling as though Sam understood far too much about him and wondering if she understood.

Jake wasn't good with emotions like Sam was. He never had moments of blinding clarity, life teaching him lessons just in the nick of time. No, for him, lessons came in the form of karmic beat downs. He hadn't realized he'd loved his brothers until they all left him behind. He hadn't understood that he liked to talk until there was no one to talk to for days at a time beyond the librarian. He hadn't understood that home wasn't a place until he came back to the place he'd always called home and found it gone.

He didn't learn things until it was too late to change them. He didn't learn how to say 'I love you" until there was no one around to hear it. He didn't know that the worst fights were the ones that took place without words until he spent weeks in a cold war style meltdown, praying that this was better than epic screaming matches, only to find out that there could be arguments without screaming.

Jake felt stupid. He was supposed to understand people's motivations. He was supposed to get the human condition in all its frailty. The county paid him, after all, to deal with the the aftermath of that frailty and brokeness. He had no idea what to do. First, he tried ignoring the elephant in the room, and then he tried working around it. After that, they tried to meet underneath it, using the things they couldn't talk about to hide from the future. Jake didn't know what else to do.

He recalled the one lecture he'd listened to in a religious studies class. The professor had gone about an elephant. Each person felt a different part of the elephant, not realizing that they were dealing with the same thing because of the isolation. Jake knew that he wasn't dealing with the whole of the situation.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

It was three o'clock in the morning before he made up his mind. He didn't want to be right. He wanted to be happy. Happy wasn't about being right about your portion of the elephant, because maybe Sam was just as right about hers. He could see the choices he made one way, but he had no right to make her see them his way. She was entitled to her interpretations, but to make the best interpretation, however it turned out, she needed the facts. Jake rounded the corner of the tack room at River Bend and found himself staring at Sam, sleeping in the chair in the room. The faded fabric was covered by a warm blanket. Jake did the only thing he could.

He sat. He waited. About 15 minutes later, Sam's eyes cracked open. She gasped. Jake spoke softly, "Guess you weren't expecting to see me here."

"No." Sam said, sitting up, dragging the blanket up with her, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Jake said, having no real plan of what he was going to say. They sat in silence for another few beats. The darkness wasn't heavy, and Jake found the static over the county dispatch line comforting.

"Sorry. I'm just surprised." Sam apologized, reaching over to shut off the radio that had kept Jake entertained.

Jake didn't know what to say. He shrugged, but internally, he was thinking about all the things they'd said in the last year. He opened his mouth to speak, "Sam, I..."

"Jake." Sam cut him off, "Waking up to find you here...it wasn't a bad surprise."

"I guess I should be glad you're not calling me a creeper." Jake said, fighting the urge to grin like a madman.

"Yeah." Sam replied, biting down on her own smile, "There is that."

Jake knew he'd missed a moment. He'd wanted to tell her everything, tell her the most important thing, but the soft smile on her face was too beautiful to risk sending it away. Jake knew that there would be another moment. He hadn't missed this lesson before it smacked him in the face like every other lesson in life had. Boomer was right. He could be happy waiting for the next thing, the next smile, because he had faith. Maybe he didn't have faith in himself, and maybe he didn't understand where Sam was coming from half the time, but he was cool with waiting for the signal.

When the time was right, he would know. They would know, together. He didn't have to worry about missing this lesson, this moment, because he looked at Sam, and he knew that whatever was between them was external. They were the ones creating it, whatever it would be.

_Later..._

Sam wandered to the pasture, moments after Jake left. She was giddy with relief at the realizations the last hour had wrought about herself. She'd awoken to find Jake there, and her mind hadn't done anything other than say, "Oh." like he was, of course, there. She didn't think she was dreaming, and she didn't wonder how fast he would fade. Her mind, and her heart, had recognized the now in his being there, without a single thought to the past, or to the future.

Witch nudged her, "Go to sleep, you silly horse." Sam said, whispering into her mane. "Tomorrow's coming."

Witch flicked her tail, "Is that so?" Her sarcasm was easily discernible. "You seem chipper."

"Witch." Sam whispered, "Can you keep a secret?"

"Must I repeat myself? I lack verbal skills, Girl, and yet you persist in believing that I will blather on about your business if given the slightest opportunity. Had I the ability to speak, I assure you your love of that Elvis fellow would be the last thing I would waste my breath on." Witch ripped up some grass, and Sam moved to allow her to graze. "I might as well eat if you're going to keep me up, you silly child."

"Witch, how do you know, like honestly know, if a guy likes you instead of just...?" Sam asked, "I've got to figure that out." Their relationship was so much more than it used to be, or so she hoped. They'd worked for their relationship like they never had before, and Sam couldn't help but wonder if he was starting to feel the feelings that had never truly faded for her. They were friends, again, sure, but there was more. Sam knew that the more would come, one day. The thought of him not being there was still painful, but not because Sam didn't know what she'd do without him. She had that figured out, down pat, squared away. She knew that she could be perfectly happy without him or with someone else, and she wanted to choose something else.

"You simply must be trying to pull the wool over my eyes. I assure you, I am no sheep." Witch blew out a breath, "And yet, you lack the skill to lie to anyone but Him with any level of skill. What are you, a yearling? The absurdity of your question will not do. This will not do at all."

"I know." Sam replied, "It's silly, right? I just can't help but wonder...what would happen if..." She trailed off, "Look at me, talking to a horse." She didn't get to choose their past, choose that he had hurt her, but she had chosen him to be the person that she'd opened herself to the possibility. She had opened herself to pain, with him, only to shut off everything else when it happened. If she was going to be open to all of the pain tomorrow could bring, she figured she had a right to be open to all of the joy, too. She couldn't help but wonder, sometimes, if she and Jake could make something out of what they had.

"Yes." Witch huffed, "And yet, you never listen. Begone with you. I must acquire a decrepit squeaky toy and some battery acid before dawn."

"Have a good night, Witchy." Sam replied. She laughed, despite the confusion churning within her. Like the mix of pain and joy, life couldn't be boiled down to one emotion or the other. It wasn't all one or the other. Often, she'd found, like when she and Jake learned to fight, that there could be moments of joy within pain. Who was to say that the opposite wasn't true? She didn't have the right to cut out the potential for joy from her life because she was hiding from pain. A life of nothing was just that, nothing.

She wanted more than nothing, even if the something hurt. She knew that something was a long time in coming, and she was okay with waiting longer still. Who knew if this was her mind making up romantic fluff where nothing truly was? She was open to the possibility and that was what mattered. If it never came, there were still things to be found by looking for the chance.

In that way, Sam knew that she'd made the right choice not to fall into his arms that long ago night. Waiting had given them a shot to grow up, be their own people, develop who they were and ought to be without each other. They weren't the same people they'd always been. Boomer had forced them to work together, figure out new things, navigate waters that should have terrified her. They knew the worst about each other. She knew that he was liable to shut down. He knew that she would get angry and push him away with hateful words and avoidance behaviors. From that, she wasn't sure where this was going, or if it would ever really go anywhere, but if she was looking for it, who knew what else she might find along the way?

_All alone at the end of the of the evening_

_And the bright lights have faded to blue_

_I was thinking 'bout a woman who might have_

_Loved me and I never knew_

_You can spend all your time making money_

_You can spend all your love making time_

_If it all fell to pieces tomorrow_

_Would you still be mine?_

_Take it to the Limit_ , The Eagles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started writing this story because I was annoyed with the logical fallacies in my own way of writing. They always seem to work it out pretty quickly and fall in love, and I started to wonder if there was any realism in that kind of romance. My own life says no. Sometimes, the best things are the things you have to work at.
> 
> I was going to end it with this chapter, but Witch has spoken, and she's not comfortable with the idea of ambiguity in an ending. She wants her foal. Boomer wants to save his chew toy. I'm too scared of her battery acid not to bow to her wishes.
> 
> I grew up with dogs just like Boomer. I still say "Nein!" when a dog is naughty, and they look at me like, "Yo, I ain't trained in German!" But anyway, I think so often with K9s, people forget that they're dogs, if trained towards a certain way of being. They're trained, and need highly skilled handlers, but they aren't killing machines. When they go home, they like their chew toys just as much as anybody, even if you do have to spell words like "W-O-R-K."


	4. Take it Easy

Realizing that she loved Jake didn't make a single concrete difference in Sam's life. The giddy emotions she'd felt that night had faded quickly. In its place was left the heavy realization that her love was pointless and unneeded. Their lives had grown apart in ways that Sam couldn't quantify. She spent the next two months trying to ignore the sinking feeling that it was too late. They were building something new, wherein her girlish, childhood, musings of having the perfect love story seemed crazy. Nobody grew up to marry their childhood best friend.

It was too late. They were friends. Sam knew this, and she knew that saying, "I'm in love with you, Jake." would ruin that. She would sooner walk over hot coals without hope of ever having a burn salve that toss away a friendship that they had worked to rebuild. And what was love, anyway? Did it really matter? Was love just adding sex? She wanted that, sure, sometimes. She was nearly 20, and she was an average, heterosexual, woman. She wouldn't lie to herself and deny that fact or what it implied. It was pointless to say that she didn't feel a stirring of jealousy when girls she'd gone to high school with announced engagements and weddings and babies, or when she realized that she was one of the only single girls left around here, one of the only ones to be just 'alone' in that way that every single girl just knew and understood, even if they could not describe it. But Sam wondered if saying that she loved Jake would change anything. She didn't think it really would. What was love going to change in the lives? Nothing. The risk was too great. She didn't know enough to take the risk. So, she lived life being glad for her independence, and hating herself for being a coward. It seemed that adult life was a paradox.

If she told him that she loved him, it might take away the very foundations of her life. The cases, the horses, the ranch work, were really all she had. All of that would be gone, and after the last three years, it wasn't worth the risk. Sam wasn't so foolish to admit that what they had wasn't great. They had their communication back. They had the support of knowing that the other would be there. They had so much, so much, and one whispered confession wasn't worth it. It would change nothing.

Sam knew that she'd done a lot to build her own life, make her own choices. She knew that she just had to keep doing her own thing. The ducks were the next step on her bucket list. It wasn't much, she knew, but a girl had to grab onto what she had. She had to add them to her life plan, which she took great pains to stick to. Ever since Jake had gone, she had realized that her life was solely her own, her plans were her own, and the girl without a plan was left holding her heart in a thousand pieces. She lived by her plan. She trusted her plan.

"Sam?" Jake said, extending the level towards her. His brown eyes were questioning, and Sam knew that she'd been staring into space again. She tried not to let on that, once again, she'd been thinking about him and not her coop.

Sam leaned over, and took them, careful not to touch him as she took the level, and placed it down, raising the piece of wood slightly to compensate. Using the power drill, she secured her end of the board. They quickly continued to refurbish the modified chicken coop. Really, Sam was remodeling Gram's old coop, which her flock had outgrown, to make space for a widened yard and a pool. The ducks were currently living in the barn, rescues from the local shelter. They were going to be put down after they'd been rescued from some house. Jake had gotten wind of animals because the police had been called. Once Sam knew that they needed homes, it had been relatively simple to convince Dad to come around to it. Since then, she'd been volunteering at the county animal shelter with what little free time she had.

The coop needed few touch-ups. Sam looked around at the evidence of "What do you think?"

Jake looked up. "I'd knock out this wall, were I you, and put a door with an entry there. You could wheel up a wheelbarrow..."

Sam cut him off, understanding how convenient that would be in the winter, or when she needed to muck out the place really well. She had a sudden thought about pool maintenance, "If I put a grey water system in, I could..."

"Fill the duck pool with it." Jake agreed with her. "It would be simple enough." Jake offered, "D'you want to go to the hardware store?" Sam knew that she needed a barrel and a few couplings.

Sam's heart soared. It was an invitation to the hardware store. It wasn't a date. It wasn't even a going out. It was a trip to the hardware store. "It's my turn to get the groceries, so I'll just swing by then."

Jake looked at her. "Sure. Makes sense." Sam nodded. It did. Still, she couldn't help but acknowledged, later that night, when the ducks were quacking around her, that understanding her feelings had changed things. In other circumstances, she would have thought nothing of going to the hardware store with him. But no, she had to maintain boundaries she wanted desperately to cross, even if they had never really been there before.

Boundaries were good things, just like her plan, even if she did have to constantly reenforce them and revise them. Boundaries kept her safe, kept Jake from realizing that the girl who'd been his friend all his life wanted to be more. Boundaries kept her from making a fool of herself, in September, when her second semester at Art School started. Being that it was online, she'd started two weeks after having her high school diploma in hand. Boundaries were a way that she could allow herself to love Jake. In drawing a line between friend and something more, Sam honored what they had. The last year had taught her that you could never feel contentment if you didn't acknowledge what you had. She had so much. She didn't need more. She only felt daily, like she wanted more, wanted to move ahead, move forward in life, in ways she could never define.

Even when she wanted most to move quickly, life was slow in that Fall. For the first time in forever, she was not constantly revising her life plan. The sunrises gave her ample light to take photographs, and the early sunsets gave her plenty of otherwise wasted hours to complete the message boards and assignments that came with her online courses. Making the choice to go to an online program had been hard. She knew why she had done it. She wanted to be here, not far away. She loved her horses, her work with them, and her family. She didn't see the need to pay money to live anyplace else. There was nowhere else on earth that she had ever felt like herself. There were many reasons to stay, and almost none to compel her to leave.

For a time, she worried that Dad would throw her out, or something, but that had proved to be a asinine worry. As long as she was doing her schoolwork, he asked nothing different of her. She offered to get a job in town, but he'd looked at her, and said, "School is your job. Eat your soup, Sam." That had been the end of that. Dad was supportive. He tried to understand her schoolwork, the technology, even when he still thought of computers as big, brick-like machines.

There were times, as October gave way to November, and the ducks began to spend more time indoors, that she wondered if she'd made the right choice to do this. Online classes were so different and she spent more and more time questioning herself. Her time, her work, was solely her own. There was no one in her personal spaces to talk about various exposure methods. Max sometimes served as a willing conversation partner, but Sam had begun to feel that she spent more time educating Max than actually talking to her.

Had she made the right choice? Sometimes, Sam doubted herself. Sam wanted to put her face on the computer and pound the keys tonight. She'd had to be the discussion moderator for her class. The assignment required her to post a prompt for discussion and keep it going. She had just checked her grade, and it was an 87.56%. It wasn't what she'd been expecting, not when she had tried to follow the assignment sheet, as scant as it was, to the letter. She was frustrated and angry. It felt like she was doing everything she was supposed to do, but still, nothing made sense. Sam enacted the 24 hour rule, and thereby logged off, and walked away, vowing to ask for clarification tomorrow, when it didn't feel like her self-worth was in the toilet along with her grade.

Sam grabbed her hat, yanked up her braid into a knot with some sticks, and went to the barn. Jake was working, and so Sam tried to ignore the chatter of the radio as she made her way through the barn for Ace's tack. Once she was saddled up, she confessed, "Ace, I'm so confused."

He seemed to ask her why, and she really didn't know. Sam was pensive as they rode along. Growing up sucked in so many ways. At 16, she had been so sure that her choices were the right ones. Now, she wasn't so sure. She never was. She questioned her rationale as she worked through her cases, as she made choices for her animals, as she submitted assignments for her coursework. She was filled with a feeling of unease, a general sense of loss. Jen was off at school, with worries Sam knew she would never have. She would never come to care about some sorority house, some group of girls. But had she made the right choice, over and over, and over again?

So much was riding on this degree. Her future depended on being able to provide for herself. She had no aspirations of ever being a housewife like Gram had. Sometimes, she felt like throwing her hands up and tossing in the towel, dropping out and waiting for some guy to come along. After finishing the paper and smacking herself upside the head, she thought about her real dreams, and knew that she would never be happy being just Mrs. Anybody, not even Mrs. Ely. Really, spending hours doing up Jake's shirts was laughable. Not that she even thought about marriage, not even when Alexis from church announced her engagement and Sam felt a stab of envy. She wasn't ready to be some man's wife, not when she couldn't figure out her own life.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Jen came home at Christmas, aglow with the adventures that college gave her. She looked so polished, coming over atop Silly with fewer fly-aways and more confidence in her smile than Sam had in her whole body. Sam threw herself into barn work, desperate to feel accomplished in something. Jake stopped by before work, took one look at her, and said, "What's your problem?"

Sam wanted to throw something at his face. Smug was not, not, not, sexually appealing and she didn't care one bit for that smile of his. She brushed a curl away from her face, and said, "I didn't have one until you asked."

"Sure." Jake drawled. Boomer was looking at her with wide eyes. "Want to tell Boomer about it?" The dog was doing all he could to get her attention, and Sam patted his head with a warm, wet hand. The cool air hitting her dishpan hands made her chilly.

"I don't have a problem!" Sam frowned, scrubbing out a bucket, "I don't have anything." That was dramatic, maybe, but Sam felt, tonight, so immature and inadequate. Her life hadn't changed much, not like Jen's had, and she was torn between wanting to make changes and being terrified that those changes would rip away things she had worked so hard for, things other people seemed to take for granted, would ruin a life plan that she could never seem to calibrate. She liked her daily life for the most part, loved living her life in tune with the ranches, loved being able to see Cody grow, but hated that none of the things that she loved were really hers.

"You don't..." Jake broke off, cookie frozen in his hand. "What?"

"Nothing." Sam said. She was torn, half-way between being thrilled that she was still doing her own thing, forging her own path, and sad because she felt so out of step with everyone else. Jen had traditional college, and all of the things that came with it. Sam knew that she didn't want any of that, but it didn't stop the swirl of emotion within her when she saw her friend growing and changing in ways that Sam didn't see in herself. Jen had Ryan. Sam thought their relationship was crazy. They never could seem to say two words to each other without sucking each other's faces off, but maybe that was just jealousy coloring her interpretation.

Jake paused, as he'd been eating cookies she'd baked earlier. "Sam." Jake shook his head, "You have so much. Don't forget that." Boomer was knowing on a toy, and Sam couldn't look up at Jake. "No one else has what you have." With that, he walked out of the barn, calling, "Hier, Boomer."

Sam gave the dog a final pat as he sprinted away, toy dangling from his mouth. Sam knew that they were going into work now, and that Jake would have a busy night. Sam wished that his words would make sense. They didn't. She had an average life, what everyone else had. She had her schoolwork, her family, her horses. There was nothing spectacular about who she was, what she was. Sam knew that the unvarnished truth was that she felt like she should want more, want different things, professionally. She did, but she didn't. In rare moments, a sense of peace overcame her that was soon at odds with a desire to move forward somehow. She should want to be somewhere other than here, but she didn't. Personally, she knew that she should want less, but she didn't. What did she have, really, that no one else did? It didn't matter, Sam decided. She was in an emotional funk, and Jake was being cryptic to annoy her.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

New Year's gave her no clarity, not even when she quizzed the ducks. They seemed so content to live out their daily lives, so content to just be, just go with the flow. How unlike the ducks Sam was. She couldn't bear the idea that the wheel had turned again, without her knowing what balance was, or what the answers were, or how she wanted them, so she went out to see the Phantom. There was no sneaking out anymore. Dad didn't exactly approve, but she was an adult and could now do as she pleased with no one to answer to, as it had been for so long. Sometimes, she wanted to know that someone was worrying, waiting on her, but that was only when the old maid reared her head. Sometimes, Sam cursed where she lived and the social conventions, but that was only when she loved living her life for herself. No one was waiting on her, so she could do as she pleased. She didn't see the Phantom, and Ace was a solid friend in the cold.

She hated New Year's. You were supposed to reflect on all that you had learned. She felt like she knew less with certainty than she had a year ago. Hooves crunched over the snow, as Jake called out, "Sam?"

Sam twisted to her right and saw Witch coming towards Ace, bringing Jake along. "What?" Sam tried not to snap. It wasn't his fault she felt so unsure, so unglued.

"Everyone's back at the house." Jake's breath puffed in the air, "You should come home."

"Why? So I can listen to Jen talk about her internship applications, or Pepper about his poetry book, or..." Sam trailed off, hating that she still, even after all of this time, told him things that she couldn't keep secret. Everyone had a plan, but not her. She had no plan, because every time she tried to make one, she ended up making a choice, or something ended up happening that blew up her plan.

Jake arched his brow. "Oh." Witch nosed the snow, and Ace snorted into the silence.

"Oh, what?" Sam said, wiggling her fingers. The night was unseasonably warm after frigid temperatures, and Sam had hoped in vein that the warm night would call forth the Phantom after weeks of deep chill. Getting here had been somewhat perilous, but Sam had enjoyed the challenge.

Jake caught her gaze, "You don't feel like you've accomplished anything." He summarized, "You've forgotten how special..." He broke off, suddenly, looking down at his hands. Sam knew that she had been a bit off-kilter at finally meeting the goal of getting into college, which was really special, but who wouldn't be? The art school had been a dream school on his list and getting in had been an act of providence, though that had been some time ago. Darn him that he could read her.

Sam looked at the north star, and prayed that it would direct her path, "Jake, don't attempt to analyze me. It hardly works." Sam deflected, hoping he couldn't hear the falsehood in her voice. The night was bright around them, and Jake reached up and pulled down his hat.

"Hm." His words were slow, but they hit the mark, "Tell you what. Why don't you try talking about all the ducks you've rescued, or the cases, or maybe your award, or those articles Gram swears are future Pulitzers? Your GPA, maybe, or the fact that you're taking 19 credits come next week?"

Sam bristled. His words were heated, like he had some right to be angry at her for keeping busy, living her own life. She was just trying to make the best choices as things came along, though she could never say if she was because they always blew up her plan, "Jake, that's just..."

"You work hard, Sam." Jake cut her off, sitting calmly in the saddle, "Wallowing in some self-applied sense of mediocrity is not helping you. So what if you don't have what Jen does, or something? She'll never have what you do."

Sam hated his perception. She wasn't jealous of Jen. She just wanted to feel like Jen did, secure, and confident in what she was doing, and why. She loved Jen, and nothing would change that. Jake's words sounded as though he were repeating himself. "You keep saying that!"

"It's true." Here he quirked a brow, "After all, Boomer wouldn't fall in love with just anybody, now would he?" The clouds moved, and Sam tried to look up at another star, so that he couldn't see the blush that was obviously visible even in the darkness.

Sam tried to go along with his teasing, even as Jake saying the L-word made her heart hammer. "He would if they bribed him with potato chips." Anybody who cared to listen, to observe, could see that Boomer was easily won over with potato chips.

The night was wide around them, and cold began to seep into her toes in earnest. Jake sighed. "Sam."

"Jake." Sam said his name tonelessly.

Jake cut his losses, and left, Witch's hooves tossing up snow as she flounced away like Sam was the biggest idiot on the planet. Sam went home soon after. As the house quieted in the early hours of the morning, Sam decided that this year, she was resolved to find clarity. She could not force Jake to love her, and she could not bring herself to admit that she loved him, unrequited as it was. She could not say that she felt unaccomplished, but she could work to change it, somehow. She promised herself that she would stop being childish, and grow up, and she knew just the person to help her. Well, horse, really.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Time with Witch always helped her to feel connected to the parts of herself that were strong, confident, and unafraid. They were thundering across the range when it occurred to Sam that this was what Jake meant. This was what she had that no one else had. She had an amazing relationship with her horses, and it was one thing she would never trade, not for all the surety and clarity in the world. With them, she felt as though she was the person she always supposed to be. She never felt like she had to apologize for being passionate, or being just as stubborn as they were. It helped her to see that who she was the one thing that she had that could never be taken away, or limited by mere circumstance, at least in this area of her life.

Witch snorted, "It is nearly March and you have yet to make any sort of progress, girl."

Sam smiled as they slowed, "I can almost feel spring, Witch."

"Why the passage of time is something that brings you joy is inexplicable to me." Witch turned right easily, wanting to go to Three Ponies. "We might as well do something useful with it."

"No, Witchy, we have to go home." Sam apologized, "I've got an Art History paper due. 30 pages on Caravaggio." She didn't say it, but she also had another paper to work on, as well as her work for the animal shelter. Since getting the ducks, Sam had become attuned to the plight of abandoned animals, and tried to do something weekly to help them. It was never enough, but every dog she walked and every cat she groomed made them a little less alone, even if she did often cry in the car after she left.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Starkey was a three-legged cat. She was resourceful, and smart, a real hoot and leader of the colony of cats at the shelter. Sam confessed to loving her more than she had any right to, praying that Starkey would get a forever home that was worthy of her. Sam walked into the shelter, feeling like she was in a jail after the bright blue sky of the warm March day. Thomas smiled sadly at her, "Sam." The director held a file in his hands.

Sam set down her bag and flipped up the list on the crowded wall, wondering who still needed to be walked. "Hi, Thom."

"I hate to be the one to tell you this." Thomas said, as Sam froze. "But Starkey, well..."

Sam fought the urge to bolt into the cat room and find Starkey in the cat condo, "Yes?" Sam tried to wiggle her toes in her boots as she forced her boots to stay still on the tile floor.

Thom passed her a file, "Dr. Boss confirmed it. Starkey's going to need ongoing care that we can't provide." Sam knew that tone in his voice as she took the file. Starkey was next to be put down. The horror that spread through her veins was like ice and steam, horror and revulsion.

She opened the file with trembling hands. Starkey did not deserve pain, not after the trauma she'd survived just to be abandoned on the roadside, cut up and starved. Sam looked at the diagnosis, "She needs antibiotics and an IV course of steroids."

Thom looked ashamed, "I know. I want to pay for it myself, but if I pay for one cat to have them, then..." Sam understood that it would start off a chain of no end of paying for treatment that the shelter would not cover, but she thought that Starkey deserved more. "Let's be honest. She's old. She's disabled. Her chances of finding a home..."

Sam frowned. That was a horrible way to think, though she knew that rationalization was one of the ways that Thomas kept going to do the amazing things he did. She knew that many people would agree with Thom, but she couldn't. Someone, somewhere would see see how amazing Starkey was, how vibrant and alive she was. She knew that life was tough, that this mission wasn't easy. She knew that perfectly healthy animals were put down by the millions each year.

Suddenly, she saw that there was a choice. The universe was giving her choice, "She's got a home."

"Oh?" Thom arched a brow, but after years of knowing Jake, Sam thought the attempt was pathetic. He leaned against the desk.

"Yes." Sam said, "May I borrow a cat carrier?" She made a choice, even knowing it was the wrong one. She should be able to grow up and see the world for what it was, know that this was the way things were, but she couldn't. Working quickly after signing the paperwork, she scooped Starkey up, put her trusting self into the teal carrier, and walked back to the truck. There, for the first time in forever, she cried. She had made the right decision. It was the wrong one, but Sam could not deny the rightness that was the wrong decision.

Her next decision was a simple one, because it was the only one she had. Cougar would never be able to adjust to Starkey. One choice had led to another, just like her choice not tell Jake she loved him had led to so many other things. She drove to Three Ponies, and walked up the stairs. Jake had pulled a night shift, and so he was sleeping. She sat down the cat carrier, and kicked aside Jake's running shoes. "Jake!" Sam whispered.

He groaned, and Sam tried to focus on the geriatric cat in the room. She was in his bedroom for the first time in forever, and every pore of her body was drinking in the faint scent of his shampoo that seeped into every item in the room. The room smelled woodsy and clean, just like he always did. Her blood was racing as Jake rolled over, and said, "Sam..."

"Jake!" She replied, trying to wake him up more fully, avoiding the glimpse of his feet twisted up in plaid sheets.

He jumped a foot and grabbed the blanket, "What are you doing here?"

Sam rolled her eyes. He knew she was here. He'd said her name, once. Why was he acting all shocked now? "I brought you something."

Jake's skin was tinged with redness. Sam wondered if he'd gotten a sunburn, or if her eyes were blushing as hotly as her skin was, even when she tried to play it cool. "What?"

She looked down, and so did he, "A pet cat."

Jake looked between her, and Starkey, and her, and pulled a pillow over his head. Sam ripped it away. Eventually, she made him french toast in Max's kitchen while Starkey stared at him. By the time Jake had eaten his second helping, the cat was curled up in his lap as Siger hopped around his feet and Boomer sat, unfazed by this newcomer. By the time Sam shut off the pan to let it cool, Jake was calling Dr. Scott for an order of antibiotics.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

It soon became clear that Starkey was the missing piece to the Ely family. She was instantly accepted by Max, whose own beloved Tabby had passed in the winter. Oddly enough, it was Witch who took to Starkey the most. Sam would often find Starkey hanging out with Witch. Witch seemed to treat the aged cat like some kind of foal, attempting to lick her and nudge her, displaying very maternal behaviors towards the cat. Sam tried to film it, but Witch always glared at her, as if to say, "What is so unusual about this? I defy you to tell me that I am not providing more than adequate care for this being. Now, Girl, go away. We are grazing, are we not?" She would look at the cat, fondness clear in her eyes, and encourage Starkey to stand amid her hooves, balancing with grace on her three feet, as though Witch would shield her from the other horses. Sam did not have the heart to convince Witch that Starkey was completely fine without her, as Witch enjoyed giving the attention, and Sam figured Starkey could do with being fussed over for once.

Sam learned a lot from Starkey. Starkey taught her that life wasn't about knowing everything, or having some grand plan. Sam was starting to be okay with not having a plan, because if she had stuck with her plan, Starkey would have never come into her life. Life was about making choices based on what you did know, and hoping like hell you wouldn't be proved a fool when new information came your way.

Jake was sitting next to her on the porch of River Bend, after a long shift. He got off at seven, these days, and often tried to stay up a few hours. One of her fine arts classes included embroidery projects. Sam found that she liked it. It was soothing and meditative. The assignment, though small in the grand scheme of it all, didn't feel like work as she fiddled with the threads and the needles. Sam pulled at the threads, breaking them with a snap. She balanced her hoop on her knees and glanced at Jake."Quiet night?"

"Yep." He said. Well, there went talking about work. He didn't sound upset, just content to leave the answers to one words. Sam felt filled with words, even as she was content to let the late morning pass them by.

Sam threaded her needle with an icy blue thread, "Boomer good?"

"He's Boomer." Jake replied, looking at her as he replied. It seemed like he wanted to say something. She was trying to give him the opening, but he wasn't taking it.

Sam glanced at Jake curiously, as her needle poked the fabric, narrowly missing the finger that she'd forgotten to move, "Where is he?"

Jake grinned, "Home. He's really attached to Starkey."

Sam smiled. Maybe making choices without knowing if they were the right ones were okay, sometimes. Sometimes, things would turn out okay, no matter what, because they were meant to be. Starkey wasn't valued because of what she did, but because of who she was, warts and all. She had never imagined that Boomer would find a buddy in Starkey, or that Starkey would have such an amazing purpose, even after everything logical and rational told them that putting her down was the best option.

Maybe, Sam thought, rational and logical weren't always best. Maybe, sometimes, just sometimes, it was okay to not know, to not have things figured out. Sam knew that she didn't have her life figured out, but she knew who she was. She knew that she was strong, and hard-working, and caring. She knew that those things were the important things. "Jake..."

He looked at her, "Hm?"

Sam shook her head, "Nothing." It was, again, too soon to blurt out her thoughts. It seemed silly to confess that she loved him, and that that emotion was a constant in her life. She didn't have life figured out, but she loved him, and she always would. The acceptance of that realization settled into her soul like a balm.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

May and June passed swiftly, with more coursework that Sam could shake a stick at. She wrote more in those days than she ever had, and she knew that a good portion of it was not her best work. Still, she tried to value it for what it was. It was completed coursework, a step, however unsure and ungainly, towards the nebulous of dreams that were her future.

Oddly enough, it wasn't feeling successful that helped her to understand that she was content in her choices. It was understanding what she had sacrificed in making these choices that solidified that forging ahead had been the right thing. She went, for a week, to stay with Jen as she took an intensive summer course. By the end of the week, Sam saw clearly the downsides that she had glossed over in her mind. She also saw, clearly and vividly, all of these things she would never have, like dorm roommates and midnight snack runs. In the end, she decided that all she could gain by going away to school wasn't worth giving up the bright mornings with her horses, sipping tea on the front porch, and working on her schoolwork.

That realization, that her life was different, not better or worse than Jen's friends at college, but just different made all the sense in the world to Sam. She believed that each person was an individual, that each person had their own path to follow. She had to respect herself enough to follow her own path, even if that path didn't take her the places she always thought she would go as a child.

Jake's friendship was a part of her path. Starkey and Boomer and Ace and Witch and Tempest and Cougar and Siger, they were a part of her path. Compressed three credits in eight weeks courses were part of her path. She only saw much of that in retrospect, to be sure, but the realization that her path was what is was, for a reason, was helpful. She would never be a young wife, or a college girl, but she was the only person she knew that rescued animals and nursed lame ducks while writing a paper about the development of color film.

She came home that Saturday, and caught up with Jake out on the range, "I realized what you meant." Her words came out in a rush, "When you said that I have things that no one else will ever have."

His expression was full of light and joy, "Re-Really?" Witch was still, as though she too, was intensely invested in Sam's reply.

Sam nodded, "I'm me. That's enough." Starkey was, by all accounts, expensive to care for, and three-legged, but she was who she was, without apology. That was enough for her to find value in herself. Her path was valuable. It might not be glamorous or exciting, but it was hers, and she could wake up everyday, wanting to move forward. So rushing was a bit of an issue for her. She'd had worse problems.

Jake nodded swiftly.

Witch tossed her mane, as if to say, "You addlepated child! My Starkey has more sense than you!"

Atop Tempest, Sam eyed him warily, "What?" The grasses blew for a long moment.

Jake grinned, "Nothing, Brat."

She couldn't shake the feeling that even though she had more information than she ever had, that something was still missing.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Slowly, Sam began to relax. She would get through her coursework when she got through, if she just kept on. She would not trade her horses, or her work with the animals, not for all of the tea in India. Sam decided, when June drew to a close, that she would make choices as they came. Making one choice did not require a personal crisis and a rewrite of her entire life plan. One choice would lead to new ones, and Sam found that she could not anticipate them. One morning, she was sitting with the ducks as they waddled about in their pool. Sam grinned, loving how calm they looked on the surface, even as she knew they were paddling like mad underneath. They just enjoyed living their lives, and Sam wanted to try that. She wanted to live life, knowing that it would come out okay, if she paid attention and watched for the bread on the water. "Quack!" A large drake honked in a duckish fashion, and Sam laughed. "Quack!" He dove wildly after the treat she offered, beating out several other of his roommates. Sam gave them each a scrap in quick order, to prevent jealousy and accusations of favoritism.

The door to the yard opened, and Jake let himself inside. He seemed uneasy as he sat down next to her, "Sam..."

She turned to him, enjoying the bright sun after a day of rain, "Yeah?"

His dark jeans were dusty, and Sam knew that he'd just come from working. She saw the callouses on his hand, and knew that he worked hard. Sometimes, things about him just hit her as though she'd never realized it before, and she was filled with respect for him, this man who lived his life with a quiet confidence she could never match. It was okay, though. She'd keep her self-doubt and her free spirit, if only to keep seeing the joy in his life when she surprised him with a crazy cat he'd come to love but had never expected. She could not imagine Witch's life without her pseudo foal. "Nothing."

Sam smiled, and then, Jake relaxed. They sat in companionable silence, playing with the ducks, until Gram called them into dinner. Life was a series of choices, Sam knew, and she hoped to keep making the ones that would make moments like the one they shared by the duck pool part of her future. She didn't know everything, or have it all together, but she did some of her best thinking on the porch with Jake by her side. It was in that moment that she knew beyond all doubt that her love for him could not be pushed away. It was a part of her, a part of the choices she made daily, part of the reasonings and rationale were inextricable from her choices.

Love was a choice you made even when you didn't know how it was going to work out. Love was admitting that you didn't have all of the answers, that you didn't have life figured out, but you had found one person you wanted to look for the answers with, side by side, together. She had never understood that. She had thought that she needed to be a me, before they could be a we, but she knew that sometimes, paths were parallel. She could continue to develop, as surely, as they could develop together. She knew that love was a choice, but not that ti was a series of ongoing choices, or that it figured into other choices. She felt love for Jake, and she couldn't change that, but really loving him wasn't putting up boundaries and pretending like she had it all together. That wasn't even loving herself for the person she was. They sat, side by side, and erased some of the blocks in her mental plan. They were open, yet to be filled, and she was okay with waiting.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

A month later, the filter broke and the pond turned disgusting in a matter of 48 hours. Sam had to bale it out, scrub it, replace the lining. She had to wait to fix the filter, because she needed help. She felt decrepit and gross as she baled out the water. It was slimy and horrible after such a scant time. She was turning around with a bucket full of water, her rain boots shifting as she slogged through the pond, when a voice said, "Nice shorts."

Sam tried to look down at her yoga shorts, forgetting her perilous stance, and fell over. She landed on her bottom in the mucky water, soaked to the bone with who knew what. The bucket clattered onto her knee. "I should kill you."

Jake tried not to laugh, but failed. Sam tried to clamber into a standing position, but she failed too, which spurred on Jake's laughter. She was at the edge of the pond, trying to scramble out. Jake extended a hand over his laughter, "Don't get duck poop on me, Brat." His eyes were heated, the colored of dark, melted, chocolate, and Sam hated him for the feelings that a directive about duck poop could stir within her.

She was sodden, dripping with swill and muck and stinky, unfiltered water. Her clothes stuck to her body. Sam let out an enraged shriek, and made a choice without thinking it through. She shoved Jake, hard. He stumbled back and tripped into the pond. Sam tried to laugh, but she ended up swallowing her tongue when he twisted gross water out of a thin t-shirt. She was pathetic, but for once, she really, really enjoyed not having a plan.

_Two bars of soap and a half-gallon of shampoo later..._

Jake watched as Sam joined him on the porch. He'd showered first, insisting that she would use all of the hot water, knowing that in reality that they were good as long as she left the cold water alone. Her pale skin was tinged pink from the hot water of her shower, and Jake struggled to control his thoughts as she sat down on the swing. He had been planning this conversation for ages and refused to let himself become lost in his thoughts of how pretty she was. It had already happened too many times to count. "You were wrong."

Sam looked at him, shocked. "What?" Cougar hopped up on her lap and began to purr as she stroked his compact body. His tail waggled as he enjoyed her ministrations.

Jake swallowed, having wanted to tell her this for months, "When I said that you had something no one else ever would..." He breathed in, over the sounds of lightening bugs and crickets, knowing that this was a risk. "I should have said somethings and someone, too."

Jake swore he saw the blood drain from her face. Sam's freckles stood out in pale relief. She made a breathy sound. "Jake..."

He feigned a relaxed manner that he did not feel. His heart was breaking. "I know how you like information."

They were silent. Sam spoke after an endless half-moment, "I do." She paused, and blushed, adding, "Like information, that is. I do like information." Her words came out in a jumble, "But, you didn't give me enough."

He'd just laid his heart at her feet, and it wasn't enough? Jake didn't know what to say. Sam continued, "Is that someone you?"

He didn't know how to say yes. He wanted to say yes. He wanted to spell it, wanted to whisper it against her flushed skin. He couldn't do that. Not yet, if ever. Jake exhaled, "Well, it's not Boomer."

"Darn." Sam smiled, "And here I thought he was going to love me forever. I'll just have to see if he's got plans on Friday and see if I can't change his mind." The swing creaked as Sam pushed her foot back and forth.

Jake smiled, understanding what she meant, "He does. I don't, though."

"My schedule's open." Sam's smile could have powered a small city. Jake nodded softly. Sam's smile seemed to grow. He exhaled, and his heart rate slowed. Sometimes, a guy had to stick to his plans. If he hadn't, well...

He'd have to ask her if she wanted to go see the wild horses, just the two of them, intentionally together, this weekend. He thought maybe an invite to Clara's would be pushing it.

_Lighten up while you still can,_

_don't even try to understand._

_Just find a place to make your stand_

_and take it easy_

_We may lose and we may win_

_though we will never be here again_

_So open up, I'm climbin' in,_

_so take it easy_

_Take it Easy_ , The Eagles 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, you see! Witch got her foal. Come on now, you didn't think that Sam would be having a baby, now did you? This is a bit lighter, and less horse focused, but I think Sam's growing and exploring her emotions and their relation to people around her, and this is what came out from that perspective. That doesn't mean the stork was circling the neighborhood, though, really!


	5. Love Will Keep Us Alive

Just because he couldn't see color didn't mean he wasn't smart enough to tell the story as it had really happened. That giant hay eating dog, no, horse, that horse was forever going on about how dumb he was but she hadn't seen all of it. Boomer was not dumb. He could read three languages, though he could not speak them, so long as the font was black. The man often scribbled things in an ink that Boomer could not read, and it was quite limiting. Still, he did not need to be able to read something called blue ink to tell this story. He was smart. His mother had often said to him, "Liebling, you are so smart. Do not chew on your sister's tail."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

He still remembered what his mother's licks had felt like, what she had smelled like when he'd cuddled up with her. Puppyhood had been full of nice meals and romping with his siblings. He wasn't the fastest. That was Daisy. He wasn't the strongest. That was Wolfgang. He wasn't even the kindest. That was Felicity, who was so sweet that she eventually became a therapy dog. He just liked normalcy. That was what Boomer was good at. He could tell when something wasn't right. That was it. He liked things the way he liked them, and he knew when something was off.

The people at the farm were kind, and life was good. Mutter said that people were strange creatures, but if you were very lucky, you would find your people that were the perfect kind of strange for you. Boomer knew that one day, he would find his own people, and things would never be off.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Then, one day, he was gone from her, and Lissy. Wolfgang had already gone, as had Daisy, though Mutter said they'd be back. Boomer never believed that he'd go, too. He was her Bärchen, and things would never change so much that he'd have to leave her. The people brought food at the same time every day, even though Boomer didn't always eat when they said he ought. The people, that's what she'd called them, people, had taken him to a new place. His nails clicked on tile, and Boomer felt strange. There was a man, and a lady. The lady smelled like flowers, but fake ones, and the man smelled like something Boomer had never smelled, except once in the training pen and the big-haired lady had yelled about cancer. Mutter said cancer was bad, but that he didn't need to worry, and please, to go to bed. Who would put him to bed now? Who would help him to hold down his food bowl? Who would love him, here? They spoke a funny language at this new place, but they let him keep his squeaky, and that smelled like Mutter. At the new place, there was a little girl. She came to the place with the clicky floors, after the big lady put him on a leash and walked him to the corner. She said that he would have a buddy. Boomer was excited. He'd never had a Buddy before, and he couldn't wait to go to the farm and tell Mutter that he had a buddy. None of his siblings had buddies. Were buddies his people?

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

There were no other puppies at the house with clicky floors, nor even a mutter. After a few weeks, Boomer knew that being a buddy was hard work. The girl was sometimes annoying because she left toys all over that he was scolded for trying to eat. She picked him up and tried to put strange things on him, saying he was a "Pretty Princess Puppy!" She had made up for that, though, by feeding him meats from a yellow package that she snuck out of the fridge, whispering at him "Not to tell Daddy." He didn't know what a Daddy was, exactly. He had an idea. She called the big man her Daddy, and he read her books, and cut up her sandwiches with a cutter that made the meat shaped like others animals, dogs with big tails and short front paws. Boomer didn't know why it had to be cut up. It still tasted the same, when she passed it to him under the table. Daddies, Boomer decided, were like a mother, except not, exactly, somehow. Boomer was a puppy, like the girl was a girl, but he didn't have a daddy.

He had a mutter, though, and he wouldn't change her for a million daddies. He just wanted to go home to Mutter, and tell her all about his playgroup, and something called socialization. He'd liked the little girl. She always talked to him, until the big lady would call, "Angela, time for your bath!" He didn't like baths, so he would leave her be, then. He was still learning English, but he knew what baths were. The big man was teaching him English, and the big man liked him, too. Sometimes, the big man would say, "Braver Hund!" and that made Boomer feel good indeed. He had found his people.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The big man and the big lady were kind. They taught him to play games, and took him all kinds of places. Once, they went for ice cream, and Boomer got his own dish. The big lady put a part of his mother in his bed, wrapped in a bath towel, when he cried for Mutter and his brothers and sisters. They big lady patted his fur, and the big man took him on walks, and told him what a duck was. Boomer liked ducks, especially his squeaky one. That would come later, though. The little girl played chase, and said he was fun. She wasn't a brother or a sister, or even Mutter, but she was his friend. She smelled like crayons. They didn't taste good, but they smelled nice. He had found his people.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

One day, the little girl cried and spilled her cereal. No one got mad when Boomer tried to eat it. He didn't like it when she cried. She cried harder when he tried to lick away the salt on her face. The big man and the big lady took him in the car, but they didn't go the vet this time. He didn't like the vet, much, but he was a "Pretty Princess Puppy..." and he did what they said. This time, they drove to the farm. He couldn't understand why the little girl cried when she met Mutter. All of his people were together now, even the farm people, who weren't really his. Mutter sighed, and said, "Es tut mir leid, Liebling." She had tried to herd him away as the big man picked up the little girl and carried her to the Auto. No, the car. He couldn't wait to tell Mutter about his English, and his playgroup.

"Mutter, where are they going?" Boomer said, as she nudged him. He tried to follow his people. They were his people. The big man always said he had to stay with his people. He had his people and his mutter now. He wasn't going to leave his people. The fence stopped him, and the lady at the farm made a clicking noise. Boomer ignored her. She wasn't his people.

"They're going. You're ready for your training now." Mutter said, "You will get new people, just as your brothers and sisters will. Come now." Boomer didn't move. He was going to miss the TV show that he and the little girl watched. She hopped around the room on her back paws, and he snuck chips out of her bowl. He wanted to know what happened and he wanted her to finally tell him what pink was. Pink must be beautiful, if she loved it. "Ich liebe meinen Sohn."

Boomer tried to sleep, cuddled up with Mutter. He was glad to know that his mutter would always be his mother, even if he did miss the bit of her back at the new missed his people, but they would be back.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The next year or so flew by for Boomer. He learned all sorts of things. He could find people. He could bite. He could search for people and things. Still, no matter how hard he tried, he could not find his people, or the little girl. He never did find out what happened on that TV show. No one could tell him what pink was, at that hurt. It hurt to squeak his squeaky, and he only did it when he was very lonely.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The people at the farm said he was Ready. He saw others get their new people, but no people came for Boomer. He'd had people, and they'd abandoned him. Boomer knew what that was. Mutter said it was horrible, but it would never happen to him. He was grown up now. Mutter could not lie, because she loved him, but he was young enough to want to believe her. His sister Daisy got her people and bragged about it. Boomer focused on his training and ignored her. He'd had people. You only got people one.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

One day, a man came to Boomer. He patted his fur. First he said, "Hello." and Boomer liked that. Many people forgot to ask permission, even though Mutter said he had to forgive people because they hadn't mothers to show them how to do things. The new man was kind. He moved softly, and spoke softly. Boomer wanted to trust him. He shouldn't want to trust anyone. He just wanted to know if this man had a little girl. He still wanted to know what pink was, and the big lady said all little girls loved pink. This man wore a silly hat, and smelled like firewood. Boomer liked him. This man saw Boomer. Boomer wanted desperately to be seen.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

He spent all of his time with the new man. This man wasn't like the big man. He was younger, and he didn't smell like the white sticks in the tiny box Boomer wasn't allowed to eat. He liked to spend his time on the black box that people could blow up. His brother Wolfgang had learned to find bombs, and Boomer knew too much about bombs and terrorists because Wolfgang liked to blab. Boomer wondered how he was faring in the ATF. His box didn't blow up, and he took lots of pictures of Boomer. The little girl had taken his picture, too. The new man never said he was a "Pretty Princess Puppy." and Boomer tried to make him see that he was.

He liked the new man. He was respectful. He talked to Boomer, asked him what he thought of things. He told him all about his people, and Boomer wanted to know if they could be his people, too. He missed having people. He hated being alone. Maybe this new man even had a little girl to call him "Pretty Princess Puppy..." and kiss his head. He liked kisses, and no one kissed him anymore, even if the people at the farm were nice.

The new man told Boomer that his name was Jake and that, if he wanted to, he could come and live with Jake, and his parents. They must be Jake's people, Boomer decided. Boomer, though he would never tell Mutter, was glad to go. She had a new litter, and had little time for him. He needed his own people. He was grown up enough to admit that there was nothing more to do on the farm. He wanted to find the little girl.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

It turned out that Jake did not live in a house like the little girl. The little girl had something called neighbors, who evidently shared the driveway. Once, the big lady had been angry about her flowers being run over by the car that belonged to the neighbor. Jake lived in a big place, with other animals. They big hay eating dog didn't like him. She said he was stupid. She had a terrible accent. Everything sounded so nasal to Boomer, but she said he sounded like he was hacking up a lung. Siger liked him. He liked Siger, even though he couldn't speak German. Siger taught him about horses, though Boomer could not heard like Siger could.

He'd been at Jake's house for a while, looking for his people. Jake had a mutter that he called mom. Jake's Mom brushed his hair just like Mutter used to run her paws over his fur. Mutter said all mothers did that, so he had to sit still. There were other people, too, but they weren't Jake's people. Boomer could tell what people went with other people. The mom that Jake had went with the man that stretched Boomer's back. He was kind. Boomer knew that Jake had his own people, but even after one day at his house, Boomer sniffed and sniffed and sniffed, but he could not find them. Where were Jake's people?

Then Boomer got to go in the car, and he got to play find. As soon as he sniffed the sweater, he knew. He had found Jake's people. Maybe she had gone to school like the little girl, or to work like the big lady. The big lady made food he was not allowed to eat. He was so happy when he met this new lady. When he met her, he knew who Jake had promised would love him.

She was Jake's people, so she was his people, too. The little girl said that a people was a family, and that families loved each other. He liked that. She did love him. The first time she met him, she kissed his head when he left, and said he was pretty, just like the little girl and the big lady had. Boomer understood, then. There was no little girl, yet, but this lady was his new big lady, just like Jake was his new big man. It all made sense.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

He was confused when Sam didn't come home. So, he sniffed around the room to find bits of her scent. Something wasn't right. The little girl had told him that families lived in the same place because they loved each other. Boomer knew what love was. He liked the way love felt. He could see it all around Sam, and Jake. He found little bits of her smell on the T-shirt on the floor, but Boomer knew it wasn't her shirt. Jake had worn it and she'd been around him. He sniffed and sniffed, and only slept when he found more of her scent that lingered on Jake. He cuddled up in the big bed with Jake. For the first night in forever, he didn't miss the big lady and the little girl.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Boomer spent the next few months confused. Sam and Jake were his people. They did the things the big lady and the big man did. There wasn't a little girl, in this family, but there was a boy. The boy was fun. He didn't like pink. Boomer asked. He liked green, and told him that green was the color that grass felt like. Why couldn't pink be so easy to explain? The boy pulled his rope toy when Sam brought him over to play. He still didn't understand why his people didn't live together.

Yes, Boomer knew he had to learn. The pferd threatened him, but he wasn't scared of her. She was right, though. He needed his family together. It wasn't right that they weren't. He spent so much time in the Auto going back and forth after work. He liked his family. Maybe they didn't know that they were his people. He tried to tell Sam. He sat on her feet like he used to do with the little girl.

When he did it, Jake said, "Boomer, lass das sein!" and pointed, "Aus!" Boomer left and the door shut behind him. The tack room was quiet as he wandered out to see the pferd. The big man and lady had kicked him out of rooms, too, especially when the little girl was at something called Ballet, and they had time, for what Boomer didn't know. The big lady always gave him a treat after she opened the door again. Boomer knew how this worked. He wondered why Sam didn't give him a treat that night.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Boomer liked his job. He was good at it. He liked to smell, and to find. He didn't so much like it when he had to bite someone, but they were bad, and he was a "Braver Hund!" He especially liked when he got to go to the school, or the library. He liked the Kindergarten best. The boy wasn't in Kindergarten yet, but he was in pre-school, like the little girl had been. Boomer got to go to something called Lunch with the Bunch at the library. Jake talked all about his job, and said Boomer was very Special, and Very Important, and he felt very happy because he was the only dog that had ever come to work at the library. He was even happier when the little boy stood up and hollered, "And he's my dog! He likes Doritos and my sister, but that's only cos Jake likes her. Boomer likes me best." He did like the boy. Boomer had found his people. It was even a little bit funny when Jake's skin got warm. The boy giggled that Jake was bright red. He knew what red was now, and he wondered if that was anything like pink. That was a wonderful day. Boomer realized that his people loved him, and nothing would ever change again.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

All was well. Except, it wasn't. Sam and Jake started leaving him at home. They were "going out." That made Boomer sad, because everyone knew that he liked to go out, too. Sometimes, Jake didn't come home until very late. He did stupid things like put syrup in his cereal bowl, and wouldn't let Boomer eat it. It was a shame all around. He was losing his people. He'd found his people, only to loose them.

Boomer was very well trained, or else he would have stretched at the door until Mom let him out. She saw him sitting on the steps with his chew toy, and smiled. She asked him if she should be polishing her Grandmother's engagement ring. Boomer didn't know what that was, so he tilted his head to ask her. She smiled.

That wasn't good, though, because Boomer was losing his people in the room. Jake said, "Aus!" in the tack room more often now. There was no room for him on Sam's lap, sometimes, for reasons Boomer didn't understand. She would look at Jake, and say, "I can't kiss you if the dog is watching, you freak."

Jake would say "Aus!" then. It was all "Aus! Aus! Aus!" all the time. The lady with the cookies gave him an oat cookie, and said that he shouldn't feel left out because it was the way of things. He tried to listen to Sam and Jake. Once, Jake had gotten really mad. They didn't speak for a week. It was a long week. Finally, they talked. Boomer sat on Sam's feet. "What's your problem with telling me you love me?"

Boomer liked that word. They made him feel fuzzy. The little girl had always said that when your people were your people, that they loved you so much that they couldn't help but say it. Why wasn't Sam saying it? That's what people did. "Why should I tell you something you know?"

Boomer went and got his toy. This was going to be a long conversation. He knew that. "Because Sam! That's what people do! They say 'I love you' when they do love somebody. So either you don't..."

"Shut up!" She said, and Boomer was very still. He didn't like it when she used that voice. "If you think that I..." She broke off, "I think, once again, Ely, you aren't listening! Or do I think I just offer my soul to every person that I..." She tried to leave them behind. Boomer didn't want that to happen. The other dogs at training said that people got divorces when people yelled.

"Sam!" Jake called. Boomer knew that voice. When Jake used that voice, the bad people dropped the gun. They got down. They put their hands up. Boomer knew that voice and he liked it.

Sam didn't do anything. She kept walking. Jake, instead of staying with him, followed her. "Sam!"

"I'm done!" Sam replied. Boomer sped after her, wanting to know what was going on. What did being done mean? There was no food.

Jake was there, and Boomer knew that he would fix it. "What the hell's that mean?"

She rounded on him, "Love is a choice. It's a choice! Not some empty words! If you don't know that I love you without having to hear it told to you like some middle-schooler than maybe we should be done! I'm not the one whose been fickle here! In every choice, in every chance to love you, I picked you above anything and everything! You can't say that, so get off your high horse and take your deputy voice and shove it!"

Boomer skirted out of the way as Jake hugged Sam. "Geez, Sam. Why don't you just scream loud enough so they here you in Montana? I'm sorry."

"For what?" Sam snapped. She didn't pull away, though. Boomer tried to go and sit on her feet and make her happy. There was no room, so he sat next to her. Jake would probably say "Aus!" soon, but for now, he'd stay.

"For not listening." Jake whispered, "Again. It's just that I need the words, Sam. I need them."

"I feel like I'm 15 when I say them." Sam said, "They make me feel funny, and silly, and..."

"That's the point, Brat. That's the point. That's what I feel when you say them." Jake was sniffing at her hair again, and Boomer could barely hear the words. Luckily, he had better hearing than the pferd, and even Wolfgang.

"Jake..." Sam replied, "I don't need that. I just need know that you're choosing me. That's all. I don't...I would rather you told me every day that you were picking me today, that you were choosing me, rather than telling me you loved me. It doesn't matter how you feel, if you don't show it."

Jake was silent. Boomer was curious. He squeaked his toy. It helped him think when his French got rusty. Maybe it would help Jake. "Do you really feel that way?"

Sam nodded, "Love can fade, Jake. I've seen it. That's not going to be us, not before we're even out of the gate."

Jake said, "Boomer, Aus!" and so Boomer went to see the pferd. He never did know what happened after that, but the cookie lady smiled and say that every couple had their troubles, and it would take some time to figure things out. She said all was well, and gave him another cookie.

She was wrong. Boomer knew when things weren't right. That's what he did. He knew that his people loved each other. They said it more, now. The little girl said that when people loved each other, that they lived together, and because they lived together, that there was a little girl. There was room for everybody, even for Boomer, even when he smelled like Bologna. The little girl would giggle when the big man asked her why he smelled like someone named Oscar.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The pferd said that's what she wanted, too. She said that he was stupid, and that one did not get something called a foal by acting like a dumb dog who was left out in the rain. He had never been left out in the rain. He was Very Special and Very Important, but he didn't feel like that sometimes. He was very lonely. So Boomer decided to understand why his people were not like other dog's peoples.

He wasn't like the other dogs at the trainings. The other dogs had people at one house. He had people at two. He didn't have a little girl anymore. He had a little boy. No one else knew what a cookie lady was, and nobody else had a Sam. One of the dogs had something called a Grandma, and he wanted one of those. Apparently, they came with a hairless puppy. Boomer figured he could put up with one of those, whatever they were, if he could have a grandma, too.

His people were funny. That made him feel funny. When other dogs asked him where he lived, he could never say, because some of the time, home was with Sam, and sometimes, it was with Jake. Another dog asked Boomer if his people had gotten a divorce. That dog said that her people divorced because they didn't love each other anymore. Boomer asked the horse what that was, and she said no. She said you had to be married before you could get a divorce.

He tried to play with Siger, but Siger wanted to herd things. Boomer thought herding was pointless. He liked to play find, but the little boy was in Kindergarten now, so he couldn't play find during the day when Boomer was off and Jake was with the animals. He was alone, when he wasn't working, sometimes. His chew toy made a pitiful squeak.

Finally, the car came back. It was vey dark, and Boomer wondered how on earth he would be expected to patrol his beat with all due grace and poise if he had to wait up. Sam sat down on the steps. "Hey, Boomer. I brought you something." She shook a a bag. Boomer knew what that meant. She pulled out a container of chicken, and let him have at it.

He smelled firewood before he heard the voice that matched it. "I don't think they mean doggie bag literally, Brat."

Boomer ignored her, focusing on his chicken, as she said, "Of course they do. Why else would they call it that? It's not as if you need it."

"I think I've been fat-shamed." Jake insisted, plopping onto the swing. Sam patted his head, and he continued to munch.

"You?" Sam replied, still running her fingers through his fur as he licked the icky tasting carton for the last bits of chicken. "No. You have never once found any sort of fat-shaming remarks in your lunchbox, now have you?"

Jake smiled, "So you admit it. I knew you had a lurid mind." Boomer wondered what lurid meant. He still had trouble with English sometimes. German was much easier.

"Well, it isn't Boomer. We're lucky he can't read." Sam said, and Boomer took offense. Not too much, though. His people might be leaving him, but at least they had brought back chicken.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Boomer liked his job. He liked to find. Once, he'd found a little girl in the brush, but it hadn't been his little girl. He'd been sad after that, because Jake had said they were going to find a little girl. He liked to be on call. It was fun to wake up in the middle of the night and go to work. It was fun. It wasn't so much fun when Jake left him with Siger and came racing by to grab him. Boomer knew where he'd been. He'd been with Jake for almost three years. He was good at finding, but his people were more of a mess than they had been in a long time.

It was late summer when Jake said to him, "Boom. How would you feel about making some changes?" They were sitting in the car, and they were working. There was nothing on the radio, but they had to sit and wait.

Boomer wondered what kind of changes Jake meant. The last time there had been changes his kibble had been replaced, and he'd had what the vet called gastrointestinal issues. Jake had called it disgusting, and Sam had patted him and said, "Poor baby..." like Mutter had when he'd gotten his shots, and refused to shampoo Jake's rug. "How would you like to have a family?'

Boomer tilted his head. He had a family. He had Jake, and the oat cookie lady, and the little boy, and Sam. He didn't want new people. His people now were strange, but he liked them. Just because his family was funny, and not like families should be, didn't mean that he didn't love them. He might have never had a Daddy, and his people might not live together, but he had a cookie lady. No other dog at the trainings had a cookie lady.

He wanted to keep his family the way it was. He had taken so long to find his people. He couldn't feel like he did when he thought about the little girl and the big lady for all of these people. He had never had so many people to lose. Boomer didn't want to risk it.

"I want to marry her, Boom." Jake said, "We're doing well. We're doing really well. We've made choices to be together, and I feel like it's time. I want it to be time. What do you think?"

The only thing Boomer knew about marriage was that you had to be married to get a divorce. He didn't know what to think. He couldn't ask the pferd. She would laugh at him. Jake sighed, and changed the subject.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Two weeks later, Sam was sitting with him on the swing. Maybe he could ask her. "Boomer, do you know why Jake's acting so strangely?"

Boomer tilted his head. He knew how to get someone talking. They covered that at Academy. He also knew how to work a microwave, but Quinn had taught him that. "It's just...he's weird, you know? Like quiet. Things have felt so natural, you know, for a good year. And well, things are good. I admit, we lost our heads, Boomer, when we finally got together, but it was like a bomb going off between us."

Sam's voice dropped, "Love's a choice, Boom. It's a verb. It's something we do, and it has nothing to do with sex. Oh, God, I'm talking about sex with the dog. You know what love is, right? Love is...when I bring you chicken from Tika Tika because I know you like it. Love is making choices. Ir's knowing who you are, and knowing that the other person makes you want to be more you because you know that they think you're awesome and you're not scared to be you because you know that they're in your corner. I'm a bit scared, honestly, because it's changing, somehow. I can feel it. I've made my choice. I'm going to ask Jake to marry me. What do you think?"

Boomer didn't know what to think. He knew what she wanted to hear. He butted her hand. He knew what love was. Love was when she spent extra time playing with his ears. She sighed, and went back to swinging. Boomer's tail thumped in time with her fingers. He was still scared, but she was right. Love was being a "Braver Hund!" even when he didn't know what was going to happen.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

He made the mistake of asking the pferd what an engagement ring was. The pferd said it was something that Sam would like. He and Jake were doing laundry, and something that looked like a cookie fell out of his pocket. Boomer sat quickly, showing him what he'd dropped. Jake picked up the box and set it on the counter after telling him that it was a ring. He continued sorting the laundry, and left the box there. Sam came in when Jake was in the barn. Boomer had left the barn because he'd gotten hungry.

She wasn't his find person. Jake was, but if the pferd said she needed to see the box, then she would see it. He sat down by the counter. Everyone knew that that was his found signal. He waited for Sam to catch up. "What do you want to show me, Boomer?"

She looked at the floor. Boomer nudged her up, up. She looked up. She made a gasping sound, like she did when she watched a movie, and hid her face in Boomer's fur. She sat on the floor next to Boomer. "You knew, didn't you?"

He always knew. That was his job. The horse said that if she took the ring, his people would be like other people's people. Boomer wanted his people to be like other people's people, even if he had come to like them just as they were. "Do you think I should open it? I mean, what if it's like, not for me, and I...What if it is? It probably isn't." Sam shook her head, and a bunch of her fur brushed Boomer's ear. "That must be it. It wouldn't hurt if I looked, then, would it?"

Boomer had no idea what she was talking about. He found. Where was his "Braver Hund!" and big kisses, and his reward squeaky? She just opened the box, and shut it quickly, with a big snap that sounded like one of Boomer's squeaky balls had popped. "No, no, no, no, no..." Sam repeated. She didn't speak for a long time, so Boomer went and got her a squeaky toy. Maybe a squawky toy would help her to think. They always helped him.

Boomer wished she would get the funny look off of her face, "I mean, I don't normally like jewelry, but..." She was shaking, and but Boomer didn't know why. It wasn't cold. He pushed his blue squeaky at her. She would squeak it, and she would feel better. "I'm shaking. I'm shaking. Pull it together, Sammy. You knew this was going to happen. You just didn't know when. You still don't. It doesn't count if the dog proposes."

Boomer pushed the squeaky toy at her again. It was his favorite wool-y squeaky, the one that Mutter had given him. He'd decided that if his family wasn't going to be like other people's, that Sam should still know that he loved her. He would share his toy, and maybe, she would bring it over when she came to play. That way, his blue squeaky could have a family just like his, and he wouldn't be the only one at trainings. "Oh, God. Boomer."

Boomer was suddenly very sad. There was salt on her face. Boomer licked the salt off of her face, and she snorted. Boomer knew what was going to happen next. She was crying, so she was going to leave him. He pushed the toy towards her again. She should take the toy. He would miss it, but he knew what it was like to be lonely, and if she left, he'd still have the cookie lady, and Jake, and the Mom, and the little boy. Sam could have the toy. She could squeak it, and she would think about all of the people. After a while, the squeak would not make her sad anymore. It had taken him a long time to be happy when he squeaked it, but now he was.

Boomer raced away when Jake called his name. He left, knowing that she wouldn't be there when he got back. Boomer followed him into the kitchen. Sam was standing there, holding the wool squeaky. Boomer was happy. He didn't know what was going on, but she was there. Jake put more kibble in his bowl. Boomer set to eating. Let them sort it out. He'd done his job. He'd found the parts that were right. He'd better get his reward squeaky later. A find was a find, after all.

_Seconds later, same place, same time..._

Jake poured out the dog food, and turned to get some juice. Sam spoke then. "I think Boomer proposed."

Jake kept his eyes on his glass. They'd been dancing around the topic for a good three months out of the last two and half years. He hoped Jen hadn't blabbed. He'd tried to keep everything on the down low but of course, he'd had to ask Dad for the ring. Jen showed up at the only jewelry store in miles and miles the same time he was having it cleaned. He had no luck. Jen had gone completely white, a mean feat for a girl as pale as she was. She tried to pretend like he wasn't the only other person in the store, but she'd gone and blown it when the jeweler had wished him luck. She'd all but shouted, "I won't say anything! I won't, but let me see! Let me see!"

The next thing he knew, the box had been ripped from his hands. He'd been keeping it in his pocket since. He reached down and patted his pocket frantically, looking down at the floor as though his pocket had a hole in it. It wasn't there. He'd lost a vintage ring. He'd lost it somewhere on the range. He had to go back. "Sam, I forgot something in the barn..." Hopefully, she wouldn't see him retracing his steps. He hadn't seen it in hours. He was completely distracted. The loss of that ring would kill his parents, and there was no way that he could buy something as nice. It was darn hard to buy an engagement ring that didn't have diamonds in it, but somehow, he wanted to marry the only woman in the world that said diamonds were cold.

She might not want to say she loved him, and that had hurt. He'd agonized over why she wouldn't say it, even going so far as to ask Boomer. They'd had their tough times in figuring out what they each needed from themselves, and from each other, to make things work, and once they had, it was great. She laughed when he told her loved her, and she said, "Well that's good, because I'd never pick anyone else." Sometimes, he'd say, "I've picked you because I love you." And she'd say, "Well, that's good, because I'd never choose anyone I didn't love."

He was halfway to the door when she replied, "I just told you Boomer proposed. You don't think he'd do it without a ring, do you?" Jake heard something in her voice. Had she been crying?

Jake spun around. Sam was standing there, against the counter, next to the very box he'd thought he'd lost. He exhaled, half relieved, half-disappointed his plans had been blown. He tried to play it cool, "Are you sure it was Boomer who asked you?"

She nodded as Jake crossed the room, "He even gave me a squeaker and told me he would love me always."

"Be serious." Jake pleaded, wrapping his arms around her, "Are you going to marry me? Will you?"

"Well, Boomer's sort of busy. So..." Sam laughed, and the sound warmed his soul, "I will. For the record, Jake..."

"Hm?" He asked, knowing what she was going to say. He could see it in her eyes. He could feel it in her touch.

"I love you." Sam pushed up on her toes. Just before her mouth pressed to his, she added, "Don't expect to hear it again for forty years, or something. I hate repeating myself."

He opened his mouth to assure her that he would say it enough for the both of them, if only she kept showing him, showing him how to show her.

_Don't you worry_

_Sometimes you've just gotta let it ride_

_The world is changing_

_Right before your eyes_

_Now I've found you_

_There's no more emptiness inside_

_When we're hungry, love will keep us alive_

_I would die for you_

_Climb the highest mountain_

_Baby, there's nothing I wouldn't do_

_Now I've found you_

_There's no more emptiness inside_

_When we're hungry, love will keep us alive_

_Love Will Keep Us Alive,_  The Eagles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is a bit lighter, because we're seeing this through the eyes of a dog. My point with this was that a) A family is people and a family is love and b) love is a choice. I might also be trying to say that love changes and grows, and you just kind of have to take it as it comes. You might imagine that Sam and Jake had some issues because Jake needed the words, and Sam just needed to know that he was picking her because he loved her. To her, that's love. Maybe it's just the way she is, and maybe she was more shaped by the events surrounding Jake leaving in ways that she can't quantify. And whatever the case, defining your needs and expressing them is always an important part of any relationship. 
> 
> I'm sorry if I gutted you like a fish talking about Boomer being fostered with a family before he was trained. That's how it goes, and yes, somewhere out there, there is a little girl who still thinks about all the dogs she knew. She's not so little anymore, but she likes to think that every animal found happiness, and their forever people.
> 
> Next up is Starkey's story...


	6. You are Not Alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for all sorts of abuse triggers, not limited to IPV, DV, substance abuse, sexual assault, animal abuse, blood, gore, and frank discussions of death. All of this is non-graphic, though I might not be the best person to ask in defining that. This is Starkey's Story, so don't worry than any of this is between Sam/Jake. Please mind your triggers, okay? 
> 
> The national domestic abuse hotline is: 1-800-799-7233. Love should never hurt and there is help out there.

No one here knows my real story. They think they do. The lady with the fine hair that brushes my whiskers, Mom, tsks over me and says how happy she is that Sammy saved me from that awful place. I always glare when she says that. That place wasn't awful. That place, believe or not, what the answer to my every desire. Well. I'm getting ahead of myself. I always do. Boomer says it's because I have poor eyesight, but I say that it's because I know there's a great big world out there. Witch glares at him when he is rude to me, which is pretty funny, because anyone else but her would see that I earned my street smarts, even if I do live in a house on a ranch, with no asphalt in sight. Well, not that I can see from my kitty perch.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

I am pretty lucky, and looking at me you would swear cats have nine lives. I know it, even though I hate to be the one to tell that we are just like you. We have one life, and some lives are harder and more bleak than others, though even those lives have moments of brilliance and transcendence that we only see in retrospect. My mother was the house cat of a downtrodden but amazingly kind, warm, woman. The woman thought she was a good owner, but she wasn't. She didn't have the capacity to be a good cat owner. It wasn't her fault. It never was, and it never would ever be. That, like so much else, had been cruelly stolen from her. My mother thought it was normal to live her life scrounging on garbage and licking up whatever water she could find. I think my mother wanted whatever comfort, whatever joy, she could find in that awful trailer, which is also why the woman owned her. My mother was a comfort to the woman in an otherwise terror filled life. My mother was strong, in a way that I will never be. I still remember how that cracked asphalt felt under my paws as we ran away from the smashing glass. I was born because my mother lied to herself, thought nothing worse would or even could happen in a bad situation.

It did. My mother deceived six kittens, of which three died. I don't know what happened to the other two. We were never given names, except Red. The woman loved Red and wanted to keep her but... Again, I'm getting ahead of myself. You don't need to know that yet. The first memory I have is of warmth. There was warmth all around me, in the corner my mother found safe enough to give birth. I later learned, when my eyes opened, that she was a beautiful calico cat, with the kind of beauty that should have landed her the cover of  _Cat Fancy._  No, there was no magazines in my mother's life, nor the barest bit of hope, and yet, she hoped for more for all of us. In the place where I was born, there was loud voices and the breaking of glasses and the smell of beer and terror. And yet, my mother protected me from the man as best she could. The woman would bring her scraps of food, and beg her to keep us quiet, try to make her understand that the man would kill us, if he knew. My mother would raise her tired head, look down at the nursing brood, and make a promise she could not keep with her eyes. She would look at us, then, and there was a warmth under her fear. The woman would give us another towel, and Mom would lick us. I would spend the next years of my life looking for the same warmth.

Ironically, it was the warmth that told me something was wrong. The trailer was often freezing cold. My brothers and sisters and I would cuddle up together to stay warm. I knew that it all was changing when we were put into a box with a warm towel, and some real cat food. We rarely got that, and I thought it was a treat. How stupid I was. The man was screaming at the woman, and I can't bear to think of the words, or how he looked at her, or how he touched her. Mom said for us to stay down, stay back, be small and safe, but that wasn't my way. Scrambling from the box, I tried to calm the man, tried to do something, anything. I found out later that he'd thrown me against the wall, knocked me out, whatever. The worst part was that the last thing I saw was my mother's face as a bottle flew my way. I don't want to talk about the details. They're my burden. Telling you about the pain, the terror, won't help you any, and I'm not one of the people that can get something good out of revisiting pain. When I think about it all, my leg aches, and I can't eat for days, or I can't get enough food, and I throw up on Boomer's bed.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

I woke up on the side of the road, bleeding. I didn't know what blood meant, but I knew it was bad. I remember crying out for something, anything. I think I prayed for death. My leg was bleeding, and I couldn't move. My sister, Red, tried to help me, until she didn't wake up. I don't know how long we were there. Later, I thought and thought, and the recesses of my mind pulled up the man throwing the box out of his car, with the woman crying, but not being able to stop it, knowing that it was, as the man said, her fault. In years later, I would do my best to hate her. I would try to blame her for the loss of my siblings in the desert, for not knowing what became of the ones that I didn't know had died, for not being able to love my mother, though I ever truly could muster up hate for someone I saw as incredibly strong, and incredibly oppressed. In time, though, I saw that she abused and terrorized by the man. We were in good company. I hope she left the bastard. I hope he's six feet under toasting old, inedible, marshmallows with the devil. No, I cannot not hate her. I empathized with her, cried for her. I had gotten out with only my leg as collateral. That woman, when she was forced to leave us on the side of the road, sacrificed a piece of her soul to that monster. I mourn for her. I lost part of my body, but he tried in vain to steal parts of her humanity, and what's a leg really matter to your psyche?

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

I hated that time in the desert. What, you want me to tell you it was a picnic packed by that British chef Jen likes so much? Okay, I'll lie. It was an oasis, if you don't mind the wildlife. If the snakes don't get you, the hawks will, provided you don't die of exposure or thirst. I had it figured out, okay? I knew where I could lap up a bit of water, and find a bit of food that Red had left by the box, though I could barely move. The hours pulled and pulled, like carding wool, more and more and more until I would have done anything to get it to stop, get the whoosh whoosh of cars passing me by to do something to make it stop.

There were so many cars, in my mind. That's how I knew what time it was. Time has a rhythm, just like the trailer court had. No car stopped for me, and for that, I was glad. If the cars stopped, I thought, so would time. I had seen enough death in the past few days to know that that's all it was. Your time was up. A car stopped, and part of me, the silly part thought it was her, come back to save me, save us all. It wasn't her. It didn't mean it was my time to die either. But you knew that. You're not as stupid as I was.

No, it was a woman, who scooped up the box, and made a phone call. I tried to prove I was alive when she said I wasn't. I didn't look that bad, surely. I had inherited my mother's beauty, if not her placid temperament. She laughed, and said, "Thank you, God!" when I meowed in protest. Next I knew, someone was patting my head in a bright room. There was a pinch, and I was a goner. After that, the next thing I knew, I woke up in a steel cage, with something dripping into me, and my leg gone. I hadn't eaten in days, but I admit, I threw up when I realized my leg wasn't there. I could still feel it, still feel the agony that its mangled and bloody form had given me. How could something not be there when I still felt it? That lesson would come back to me later, as they always do.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

There was a sound from the door opening, and someone took my temperature, and clucked over me. When she saw that I was awake, she said, "Those people did a number on you, didn't they, little one?" Yeah, yeah, they had. They had taken my leg, for Pete's sake. She continued, "We were getting worried that you wouldn't wake up, but I told them you were a fighter. You listen to me, cat." Something in her voice made me look at her, crack an eyelid and wince in pain, "You fight. You prove them all wrong, do you hear me? Fight." She wiped a tear from her eye, and ran a gentle touch under my chin. "You deserve to know that there are good people in this world."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

I soon discovered that there were good people in the world. The people who gave me food, and patted me when they changed the bags on my IV were good people. They were good, even if the things they did sometimes hurt. I heard other animals. There was a dog two crates down getting something done, and he whined and complained the whole time. To me, this was paradise. There were meals, and clean water nearly on demand. It was only in the dark of night, when my senses are keenest, that I felt the guilt eat me alive, because my brothers and sisters were dead. They were all better cats than I was, and they were dead. I had been the only one to survive, and for what? A three-legged cat wasn't going to go very far. Red should have lived. Not me. She was pretty. Sometimes, I thought I was. I knew better. I'm calico, but I'm rangy and warn down as only a hard life will get you. I figure I've lived more in my years than most house cats would in five of their nine lives. That's a total myth by the way. We have one life. One, and I knew what that lady meant. Sometimes, living a lot isn't always good, but you have to do what you have to do.

Sometimes, they encouraged me to scramble around while she waited for the doctor, and I found that I could walk, even if it was the oddest experience of my life, including some crazy stuff I had seen at the trailer court. I found that they looked happy when I moved, so I tried to do it more than I could. Even in those days, I was something of a people pleaser. Now, I can hide it. I was more vulnerable then than I realized. Had I known how raw I was, then, I would have never left my cage.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The next time I was in a car, I clawed the nurse. I was so glad to hear her yelp. I ignored her gaze of sympathy. I did not want to get in the car, I would not go. I would not go. But, as I said, how fast do you think a three-legged cat with barely healed lacerations can run? In case you're a dog, and therefore are naturally dimwitted, I'll tell you. It wasn't fast at all. I remembered this car ride. She told me that I was going to make lots of friends, that I wouldn't be there long, but it would be just like college, or Girl Scout Camp. She said, "You'll love the cats, Starkey."

I forgot to tell you how I got my name. I always forget the most important things until they very last second. The vet named me, telling me I couldn't be Kitty or something silly, not with eyes like mine. I took her for her word. I wasn't named for a having the stars in my eyes. I was named for a school, somewhere in Virginia, where the vet's mother had learned that there was a great wide world, full of amazing people. I think the vet had hopes for me. I don't know. It sometimes hurts to think of her because getting my name changed everything for me. I was something. I had something that was mine, now, that defined me, and made me me. It was amazing, and sometimes, I would repeat introducing myself to other cats, my head held high, but only in my cage. I didn't know any other cats, but I would be prepared for when I did.

The nurse dropped me off at this place, and I was let into a room filled with other cats. They were loud. Some wanted to know my story. Others didn't care. I had nothing to say, once I told them my name, with some pride. I went to a kitty condo, the likes of which I had never seen, and tried to block it all out. What did they want from me? I was alone, up in the world again, while all my brothers and sisters had died before they knew what fake mice and kitty condos were. They deserved these things more than I. How could I keep going on, moving up when they were gone?

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

It took me six months to meet her, but by then, I'd taken the lay of the land and I knew how to work it, living at the shelter. By then I had the respect of every cat in the room, only because they knew nothing about me and made up grand stories. One day, I was a purebred cat. The next, I was a washed up stunt cat who'd gotten hurt on the job. The farther they were away from the the truth, the more I enjoyed it. They couldn't imagine that I was just like most of them, with the same story of loss and abandonment, just like them, because I had lost a leg. I was their queen, mostly because they wanted to know, and I refused to tell. Today, I was an escapee from an animal testing lab. I talked about what little I know about chemistry, just to play along. It gave me something to do, and made them all happy. What can I say, I've always wanted to be approved of. They didn't approve of me, they were in awe of who they thought I was, but it had to be enough. It was all I had.

She made a great life at the shelter even better. She tossed my tinkle ball and let me crawl all over her. She told me about things I never understood, like painting and alternate uses for kitty litter. I liked her. I've always liked girls. Not, like that, or whatever, but I suppose it's safest to say that I've always felt safer with women. Most men, even the director of the shelter, reminded me of the man in ways that caused my leg, the one that was gone, to throb. He didn't mean to, and it wasn't his fault, but part of me cried out when he shut the door, wondering if he was leaving us all there to die. Of course, I never said as such to the other cats. A girl had their reputation, after all.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Today, they said I was the long lost cat heiress to a fortune, because I was lying about in my kitty condo. No one else used this cubby but me. It was the warmest space I could find, and I would keep what little warmth I had, come hell or high water. I've never understood that expression. They're the same thing, after all. But anyway, the rumor today was that I was a cat heiress because I was lazy, like the white cat in the fancy feast ads. One of the residents asserted that his arrival here was all a mixup, and he'd be home eating his fancy feast instead of bargain tinned food. I don't have the heart to tell him that his owner died. You can't really understand death if it hasn't come knocking, and he would find a new home. Many cats did. I knew I wouldn't. I was disabled now. Sam said that she knew something about being hurt. I could see her history in her aura. I'm not great at auras, but there's a white wall in the room. If Sam's upset, I can totally see flares of color. One of my brothers could tell if you'd met your soulmate. Anyway.

I was disabled, and sick. My head was spinning, like the time I'd sipped the awful stuff from the man's glass. I know his name. I won't tell you it. It doesn't matter, really, and all it would do would be to poison you against people with the same name. He was a discredit to it, and it doesn't matter, not like I once thought names did. You'll see why, or at least I hope you will. I was so sick, and so the man at the shelter let the vet look me over when the dogs were getting their tick powder or whatever Frontline is. I think it's different for dogs. The vet got real still, and petted me. I know that pat. I've seen that look on her face. I figured that I'd come in the world, had more of a life than Mom ever had, no matter who would judge her for my upbringing, and that's all she ever wanted from me. When you see so much death, you not only get numb to it, you also know that there are really things worse than it. Sometimes, allowing the natural ending to the book is better than an author pulling out another 150 chapters because she just can't let go. I knew the look. It didn't mean that I was cool with seeing what I knew happened next.

They put me back in the room, and I went back to sleep. I was so sick. I knew it, and so did the other cats. One called me by name, that's how bad it was, alright? They'd never used my name. Names don't matter any, not really, except when they did. The next I knew, Sam was putting me into her truck. She'd told me all about it. She was in art school, and her father had insisted she needed her own truck. She felt badly about taking it, but I figure she works hard enough on all of her cases, she still does, even now that... Well, getting ahead of myself, again. She won't let her dad pay her, not even now. Again, I'm getting off track. She put me in the car, and cried. I heard the pain in it, felt the uncertainty and the sorrow in it. I longed to comfort her, though I could not. I sat, still in the confinement that was the kitty crate, and watched as she drove along the roads, stopping at a house so grand I felt like a feline cinderella.

She took me upstairs. There cat that lived here had recently died, though there were two dogs. One bounded up to her with a cultured, "Wie geht's?" I think it was German. A cat came in, once, and spoke a bit of German. He was adopted quickly.

Sam replied, "Hey, Boom! I've got a friend for you."

I didn't know what to say, so I didn't say anything. The dog probably thought I was rude. He turned on his heels with the precision of a knife blade, and stalked into a room that contained a bed. I had never seen a bed like this, one that didn't fold up or lay on the floor, and I wanted desperately to lay on it, and sleep the day away. No one need know that I had a weakness for warm, soft places.

Sam introduced me then, to the man. I was shocked and surprised when he let me out and proceeded to help me, me, down the steps. He spoke to Sam kindly. When she woke him up, he didn't even call her stupid, which was as nicest that the man had ever been to the woman. He didn't tell her she was going to get it if his breakfast wasn't right. He didn't say she was fat. Instead, he looked at her as though everything she did, from bringing me around to the food she put in front of him as they talked, was the absolute best thing he could have had in the entire universe.

It was the most surreal experience of my life. Sam told him what for, and didn't end up with a split lip and a torn blouse. He picked me up and must have felt that my heart was racing. It was. I'm not going to lie. Abuse, any abuse, not even the extreme forms of it I grew up around, are not a joke, and if you feel unsafe or belittled, please, get help, please. If I could tell you one thing, I would beg you to understand that this isn't your fault, and tell you deserve respect and safety, no matter what anyone says, even if they tell you they love you. Words are empty. Abuse is not funny. I can't even think about it without wanting to curl up in a ball. No one in the trailer court thought it was normal, either. The cops were called, all the time, and just as often as the man went to jail, the lady went, too, as though her situation were her fault. The cops never saw that the man had complete control over her, and this ability to twist everything so he came out like roses. The good ol boys trivialized her experiences because they could never understand what it meant to be so abused, to have no power. They had all the power in the world. I hated cops, and with good reason.

"Come on, Jake. Please?" Sam said, turning off the stove. I could see her from the side of the chair on which I was perched. I tensed, as the man had placed me on his lap and was passing me bits of egg. His name was Jake. Jake. Jacob.  _May God protect._  Jacob. I froze. His hand was gentle on my body.

"What antibiotics, now?" He asked, and that was that. My heart did not slow for hours. The terror must have been plainly evident as the dog looked at me, commiseration in his eyes, when he saw the look on my face.

His accent was precise as he said, "Keine Sorge! The man will wrap it in peanut butter or bologna, and you will hardly know. Come now, if you wish." He looked at my stump. "I will help you around."

I was sick, and it had nothing to do with my leg, "Hey, buddy." I said it like I meant it to sound. I grew up in a trailer court, for heaven's sake. This guy wasn't my buddy. He sounded like the Count von Count on the Sesame Street that played in the shelter waiting room. "Piss off."

He stalked away. Good. I didn't need help. Except I did. I was always something of an explorer, but I couldn't get around on the furniture. I could get up onto the chair, but not get to the windowsill. I just wanted to sit in the sun, so I had to try. I fell a few times. Jake saw this, and he stopped talking to Sam, and pushed the chair to the left so that I could climb up onto the sill from the back. The next day, the entire living room was rearranged. The next week, there was a soft and cuddly kitty shelf on that same window. I hardly knew what to think of it. The man had made grand gestures, too, when he was sorry, and when he swore he'd never hurt her again. That's how we ended up with tinkle balls. He threw those out the next week, saying we were all sorts of awful things that I won't repeat. I hear them in my head enough, sometimes, though not as often anymore. You don't need those words there in your own heads. Better you think about how nice Jake was to me.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

It hit me like my tail had been stepped on. He was a cop. I had to leave the house. I could not stay here. I bolted when Quinn opened the door, and he didn't know that I wasn't supposed to be outside. I had planned my escape well. I met Witch that day. Unlike many others, she didn't see my missing leg. She thought I was an overly small horse, and encouraged me to stay with her. She was a bit silly, but she was nice. I liked to stand under her belly. There, and snaking around her legs, I found the warmth I hadn't felt since the towels I still dreamed about.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

It took me a long time to stop thinking about Jake being like those cops I'd known, long ago. It was actually one of the most memorable nights of my life. He came in, one night, and sat, staring at the wall. I knew that look. I crawled into his lap, even though I was still sometimes wary, and he said, "The laws in this country suck. He should rot in jail. She should be given more help. All I can tell her is about PFAs. I can't..." Jake lifted his shaking hands to his face, even as I could not believe what I was hearing, "I want to do more. I have to do more. She was bloody..."

Jake would never understand what it was like. He would never understand the mental control, the endless rounds of "I love you baby, I'll never hurt you again!" and the dynamics that came with those lies. To him, it was easy to tell a woman to leave. Yeah, sure. It was easy. Sure. Where would she go? By this point, just like the man had done, her ties had been cut off. She'd been made to look like a flake and a liar to her own family, because of his abuse. Jake would never understand that leaving wasn't so easy, and neither was letting go.

He told me every detail of that case, and many others that came after it, both men and women who were hurt at the hands of their abusers. It hurt, at first, but slowly, I grew to understand that what I knew could help him, and maybe others, one day. I saw how the realizations changed him. I heard him slowly start to change the way he talked about consent and autonomy. I heard him tell Sam that he was choosing her, that he loved her, that he respected her above all others. I saw it, too, in the way he treated others, in the way he treated me. Talking about it was worth it, and that's why I'm talking to you.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

That was my life with Jake. He welcomed me into a warm family. The dog was always going on about him and Sam getting together, but you can't rush these things. I tried to tell Witch. I wasn't surprised, years later, when there was a big family dinner and Sam's hand was adorned with a ring that made accepting her attention a bit funny for a few days. It might have been her fault. She couldn't stop lifting her hand, and staring at it with a dopey expression on her face, even when she was supposed to be petting me.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The dog walked around as though he were the King of the Universe for weeks. He started talking about seating arrangements. It seemed that every animal on this ranch had wedding fever. Sam and Jake planned, over the next few months, a small wedding that Sam's Grandmother called shabby chic. I called it silly. Presently, I was lying over the gift book. Did you know you had to write down every gift you got when you got married, and write a personalized note that read, "Thank you for the ugly vase. It's number 73." Except you couldn't say that. Max came in and moved me, gently, saying, "Best pack your tinkle ball, Starkey! Are you excited about moving? I'm sorry you have to go, you know." She smiled, as though I was the butt of some joke. You're smart, think about how it felt to finally trust someone, someone who had broken down so many barriers within my soul, only to be tossed out again. Jake could just choke on a hairball.

She was off in a flurry, talking to Gram about where all the guests were sleeping for the wedding next week. I was heartbroken, then. Who wouldn't be, after getting told that they were getting tossed out with only a tinkle ball to their name? I tried not to be angry. I had come so far, and I was only borrowing time. I mean, a cat like me, in a lush life like this? Cats like me don't get Starkist tuna packets on a weekly basis forever. I tried not to get sad. I tried not to get angry.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

I did get scared. I'd never tell anyone. Remember, lies keep me safe. A few days later, Jake took down my cat bench, and put it in a box. My kitty post went into another box. The next day, Sam came around, her hair all done up in big rollers, her skin glowing, and took those boxes someplace after demanding that she had to talk to Jake, now, right now, right this very second. She seemed a bit unglued, but she wasn't my favorite person right now. She was pushed out the door because Quinn said there were no girls allowed tonight, after he swore that Jake wasn't there. No one seemed to notice that I was a girl. I tried not to be offended. I knew I wasn't much to look at, but I don't exist for their amusement, and if I identified as female, then I should be treated as one.

As the room filled with human men, I began to understand why Sam wasn't around. Women got hurt when men drink, right? No matter how much I told myself that these were good people, kind people, ethical people, I lost it when the started pulling out massive quantities of beer. I couldn't stand the smell. It made me think of my mother, living and probably dying in abject poverty. I thought of the look on the woman's face as the drunk man hurt her, as the blood pooled on her skin from the broken bottle he'd assaulted her with, a bottle that she was expected to clean up if she didn't pass out, and even if she did, it was still her first job. I remember one time, she could barely hold the tweezers as she plucked shards from the shag rug, blood dotting the orange fabric. I bolted from the room, and one of Jake's brothers made a joke about the cat being faster than he was.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

I hated that I could not hide my vulnerability. Drinking scared me. I tried to hide under the sofa, in the den, but the smell wafted out there. Remember, I'm a cat. I can smell things. I tried the bedroom. It was worse there. The door was locked and I couldn't get out to the barn. So finally I hid behind the toilet in the bathroom and licked the condensation to soothe myself.

Hours later, I'd told myself that it was better to leave the house than go through this again. The door was pushed open after I'd closed it, and I shut my eyes. Hello. I do not to see humans do their business in their toilets. Why people couldn't use litter boxes was beyond me. Three of Jake's brothers were hauling him into the bathroom. One turned on the shower, and tossed him in it, clothed. "Quinn, how drunk did you get him?"

The shorter man laughed as his little brother moaned in the cold water, "So I spiked his beer. Come on. Tell me Sam's not having fun."

Seth, the one that always gave me eggs, shook his head, "She's having a painting thing. Come on, she asked you not to let him get smashed the night before the wedding. Now, he's going to cry that he misses her, and I..."

The room smelled of beer, and, now according to the retching and the laughter, vomit. I mewled weakly, my missing limb aching. This Jake was no better than... My mind rebelled, and I thought about every time he'd told me, shown me, what caring actually was. He was better. He couldn't be lumped in. I yelped partly from water hitting my coat, and partly from sadness. There was a slur, " Ya 'ucks got my cat wet. I 'ope y'all...sic mah dog on y'all. Where's Sam? S'alright? She safe?" He broke off, "S'was just where...there...Where's Sam?" He was pulling himself up, then, as his brothers laughed, and he tried to get up in the tub, asking repeatedly where Sam was. I raced from the room. There was only one reason I knew of that a man would ask for his wife when he was stone drunk.

I couldn't think the next day. There was a flurry of activity, and no one came looking for me. I didn't care, or I told myself that I didn't care, days later when Mom bundled me up and put me in my carrier, the one that Sam painted just for me, and took me to another house. Sam and Jake, they hadn't been around for days. Mom said they were in Portland, wherever that was. I'm not good with direction, and it wasn't until later that I realized where I was. I moped around for ages. Finally, I hid in the bathroom in this place, and tried not to miss the dumb dog. You know, he still thinks that I'm just as educated as he is. He thinks my pop culture references are very important. He could just watch MTV when no one's home like a normal person, but no. Apparently my knowledge of E!News makes me special.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

I heard the door twist, and I heard feet come up the stairs. I heard the dumb dog, and I tried not to yowl when I found I couldn't move. I was stuck behind the toilet. There wasn't enough room. I had to get out. I did not want to face Jake. They had probably patched it up for now. I couldn't stick around to watch it get worse, watch the life drain from Sam. All his words and efforts to raise awareness for domestic violence had been nothing. He'd even started a campaign for the area cops. I was so proud of him, so proud of his using his voice in ways I couldn't, but...my history didn't lie.

They came into the bathroom, and I tried not to look. "Sam!" Jake called, "She's stuck behind the toilet. I'll have to move it out a bit. Hey Stark." Jake knelt down, and I tried to claw away from him. "Want to come out?" No, no thank you. I baked away, but hit the wall.

The dog was saying, "Calm, calm, cat! We will not hurt you." The dog had just about ticked me off. I was so on edge I couldn't imagine not clawing his nose to shreds when I had the chance. Jake didn't smell like beer, and I tried not to curl into him as he freed me from the confinement.

Sam was there then, patting me, taking me from Jake. "You're not our favorite person. She's mad at you."

I about meowed in agreement when Jake asked, "Because I got drunk..." Sam shifted towards him, and Jake frowned, and reached out to rub Boomer's ears.

"I still haven't forgiven your brothers." Sam said, tickling my fur in the way I really liked, "You could have ruined the entire wedding. My grandmother tried to pull me aside and tell me not to have expectations because you were so drunk, and I wanted to die." I don't understand a lot of the things they tell each other, but I knew Jake was in trouble. I was reeling. He was being called to the carpet for doing something wrong. It wasn't Sam's fault. She was...fine, I decided, better than me. Was all of this in my head?

I hopped down from Sam, and walked out to find the dog. He was sitting next to my kitty post. What was that doing here? The dog read my gaze, and said, "We've moved. This time, all my people came with me. Isn't it exciting?"

"Yeah..." I said, not getting his enthusiasm, "So. Uhm. Is Jake a drinker now?" I arched my back in preparation for the answer.

"Starkey." The dog sat down and looked at me, "I am not dumb. I know, though you will not tell me, what happened to you. I promise you, Jake would not hurt you. He would not hurt Sam. I know this. You do, too. If it makes you feel better, know that I would not allow you to be hurt."

I nudged my tinkle ball not bothering to reply. I know Jake is a good man. I knew. It's just hard to let go of the past, sometimes, when the little things set me off. It's nothing to do with anything, really. Feelings aren't always rational. The dog continued, "Many people do not like me, because I am a police dog. They do not know me, but when they see that I am Boomer, and I like my squeaky, then, I am just a dog. You must give Jake this same respect. See the person beyond the man, and if you cannot, we will talk. He is your Jake, not some other man."

I nodded, but Boomer didn't understand. It was harder than that. He would never understand. You wouldn't either. So I guess I have to tell you, even though I swore I would never speak his name again, that I would take all of that to my grave. The man's name was Jake, too. He never liked being called Jake, but the woman did, sometimes, when she had asked what happened to the boy she'd loved, or when things were really good. That Jake, though he wasn't my Jake, though, and that made all the difference. My Jake was a good Jake, who gave me tuna and never made me feel anything less than who I really am. Maybe I have to let go of that other Jake, but I know I never will. I want to remember him, just to remember that even though not all people are good, not all people are bad at first glance either. I want to remember him because I want to remember, for all that being given a name was the biggest moment of my life, the name I carry doesn't define me. What I do with my name defines it.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Please, don't be sad for me. I've got a good life that I like to think I am blessed with, maybe even my mother does, too, and the woman. Part of me wonders if I will ever be able to help people like Boomer does, but maybe, helping myself is enough for now. And, in telling you what I've told you, I think I have. I'm really happy in life, and I don't spend every second thinking of my past, not when I can hang out with Witch and sleep in my kitty condo. I don't dwell on it, but I sure learned a lot from it. While I know that I wouldn't wish my story on anyone else, I'm happy to own my past. It's paved the way for a good present, and unless I miss my guess, a pretty tuna-filled future. Now, that's enough of that. Apparently I've got a new home, and I want to have a look around.

Oh. Wait. I forgot to tell you the most important thing. This is the only thing I want you to remember. The woman. Her name is Ruth. If you see a smiling woman with warm hands, and a guarded smile, hug her for me. Never forget that she, too, has a name and a life and a story worth telling, no matter how she might seem on the outside. It is her story that I hope to tell, and as long as I live, I will never forget her name. Ruth gave me a shot at living, and for that, she's the real heroine of this tale. Without the courage that is her survival, you might never have met me. Men like the Jacob will be forgotten, but Ruth's strength and courage will live forever.

_The Upstairs Hallway, Little House, Three Ponies Ranch, Darton County, Nevada_

"She's scared of me." Jake breathed into Sam's shoulder. Sam shuddered as she felt his teeth scrape gently along her collarbone. She leaned back into the wall outside the bathroom door, glad that it was holding her upright.

"She's adjusting to a new home. She's been bounced around a lot." Sam replied, feeling like her knees were jelly, "Did you put up her kitty bench on the window?" Sam tried to soothe his feelings. He knew that Starkey had her history, her own story, they all knew, but Jake worked so hard with her to prove himself trustworthy after everything she'd endured. Her kitty bench was soft and warm, and would make her feel secure.

"Yes." Jake breathed into her skin. He knew that Starkey deserved to know that there were places and spaces in this world where she was completely safe, and people who would insist that she stayed that way. He often found himself wondering what he story was. He pushed the thoughts away and focused on his wife. After so many years, calling her by that title was amazing.

Sam tried not to tilt her head so as to allow him better access. "We have to stop..." The last word wasn't very coherent.

"Why?" Jake asked, pulling away and Sam could have laughed at his tone. He said being married made intimacies better, but Sam thought that was just his way of being sweet. Sam knew it was something else altogether.

"Because." Sam replied, pulling up the shoulder of her cardigan primly, "In thirty seconds, Max is going to come inside, she won't knock, then she'll turn beet red like she's just walked in on us. She doesn't need to know that she might have done just that."

Jake frowned, "It might make explanations easier." He grinned. Sam's stomach flipped, from him or something else, she didn't know. No, that was completely him, darn him.

"Explanations! Do you know I had to make myself out to be..." Sam trailed off as they turned from the bathroom, glad that the cat had wandered off for parts unknown.

"Insane?" Jake prompted, thinking about how fast she'd had to move to come up with a good reason to avoid alcohol, even going so far as to dump her single glass of champagne into his glass. He'd made sure to keep the bottle for later, though. It was the same vintage they'd had at her parent's wedding. Jake preceded her down the stairs. If it wasn't logical and sweet, Sam would have wrung his neck. In Portland, he'd practically told every waiter they ran into not to serve this or that. She had to kick him a hundred times before he blurted out the reason, but of course they all figured it out, even before she'd had a chance to see a doctor, though she knew. Just because they were sure didn't mean that their waiters had to be, too. Jake said he was only trying to help, but Sam knew he was excited.

"Ugh." Sam articulated, "Do you know that Gram tried to tell me not to be uneasy about later..." Sam laughed, thinking of her Gram's assessing gaze and matter of fact words just moments before she walked down the aisle. She continued talking as she wandered around, fixing the little things on the wall, "and I wasn't uneasy. I was nauseous." Her flowers had made her sick. Sam sat down next to Jake on the couch, "We're so lucky."

"What, that you figured it out hours before our wedding, and left the house in your curlers to come find me?" Jake put his feet up on the coffee table, and removed them when Sam glared, "Yeah, I'd say. Wyatt was in the next room going on about bad luck that I was seeing you." Jake thought he was pretty darn lucky, actually, and was just glad that he and Sam had been able to talk for all of three minutes before her father had hauled her off, mumbling. Jake had been dizzy, and distracted, not thinking, mind elsewhere, when his brothers had plied him with too much beer. Had he not been thinking about the look on Sam's face when she'd told him, he would have been present and aware of his brother's antics. He'd found out the next morning, that no, he had not said anything unusual, and why was he asking?

Sam looked over at the cat, sitting on her window bench, and smiled, "That, and..." Sam broke off quickly, changing her train of thought, "Here comes Max..." Sam said, seeing her out the window, "Keep your trap shut, okay?"

"I said I would..." Jake affirmed, but he neglected to notice the look that passed between the cat and the dog. Jake was glad that they were finally one family, one family that could take care of each other. He was also glad that his mother's actions were fairly predictable. Otherwise, she would have seen far too much. It would have been a handy explanation though.

He paused, trying not to laugh, even as Sam did, when Mom knocked. She could see them clearly through the window. It was only seconds later that he realized that she'd knocked for Starkey's benefit. He did smile then. Starkey had her family. She would never be alone again.

_Never thought I'd find the road to freedom_

_Never thought I'd see you smile again_

_Never thought I'd have the chance to tell you_

_That I will always be your friend_

_You are not alone_

_You're not alone_

_You Are Not Alone_ , The Eagles

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was pretty emotional to write, and I hope you understand that I'm trying to treat this subject with all due sensitivity and authenticity. However, it does need to be talked about. Talking about people's stories are one way to erase to stigma that comes with the cycle of abuse. Starkey's story is all too real, as is Ruth's. My points are this: a) We don't know what someone is carrying inside of them and b) People's stories are their own. From that, it was important for me as I wrote this to consider how something so normal as a bachelor party or a simple act throughout our daily life that we don't even think about can be really difficult and triggering for someone, and how our past experiences can shape our current perceptions. We never know how our past shapes us in the moment, and it is working through these things, as Starkey is doing, that gives people insight into how resilient they are and how far they've come, how powerful they truly are. I also wanted to talk about how abuse effects everyone in the family in ways we might never imagine until we've been there. It is something that needs to be ended, not just for the people being subjugated, but everyone in the community. One soul being abused is one soul too many. You can make a difference.


	7. New Kid in Town

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prepare for lots of time jumps, okay? This is Witch, after all... She does not suffer delays well and she never explains anything to anyone's satisfaction but her own.

_They will never forget you 'til somebody new comes along_

_Where you been lately? There's a new kid in town_

_Everybody loves him, don't they?_

_Now he's holding her, and you're still around_

_Oh, my, my_

_There's a new kid in town_

_Ooh, hoo_

_Everybody's talking 'bout the new kid in town_

_Ooh, hoo_

_Everybody's walking' like the new kid in town_

_There's a new kid in town_

_I don't want to hear it_

_New Kid in Town_ , The Eagles

It has become clear to me over the last year that some things are only readily apparent in hindsight, no matter how observant of a equine I happen to be. Best you think of me, and my experiences, as the hallmark of all that has happened, no matter what Boomer or Starkey might choose to share with you. It was I who wished for a foal, I who wished to be happy, I who wished for a job for a Jake, and I who must bear the consequences of bringing those wishes to fruition? You didn't think that happily ever after just fell down from the sky, now did you? No! You have to work for it. You have to know what it means. I regret to say that I learned the lesson the hard way, and am willing to bear the indignity of sharing it with you, provided we never speak of it again.

Can you believe that my Starkey thought the story should end with her? No, it was I who all of this in motion, and it is I who must bring it to a close. Don't bother looking around for details or silly little side stories as Boomer is wont to tell you. I have a point, and I aim to make it. Do try to keep up, and hold your questions to the end. I assure you that I know exactly what I'm doing, as if you needed any such assurance.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

I cannot deny that I missed his presence when it was gone from me, but I cannot also deny that his insistence at tending to my every whim is somewhat cloying. Does he not have a wife with whom to share the pleasure that is attending to my needs? Did not their God tie them together, create somehow mystically, a unit to share in the chores and pleasures of life? Did not he yammer on ad nauseum about such things until I wanted to bray like a donkey, poor unfortunate souls that they are, and insist that we all knew of his devotion to his wife. They were always together. So, it begs the question. Where on this earth was Samantha?

Of course, the very question is rhetorical. I knew of their marriage, though I was not invited to the church. It was a great slight. Was it not I who initiated their courtship? Was it not I who led them to the proverbial alter? And to be barred by speciesist politics from witnessing the very culmination of all my efforts? No, they most certainly are married. I have heard talk of nothing else for months. One would think the talk would be laid to rest now that the ink is dry on their marriage certificate, but no. It was dry, though just barely. They are still the talk of the family. So truly, there can be no question of it. He has a wife. So where is she? I posited my question to Jake, as he stood before me, presenting me with the saddle in the pasture.

Jake placed the blanket over me, and spoke softly, "You'll have to make due with me, Witch." He continued to tack up.

I huffed. Why was this, exactly? My schedule had been completely disrupted since before their wedding. Let's not even talk about the weeks after their sojourn to Portland. It is too dire to even contemplate, given that I was left in the care of Quinn, such as his care was. My breakfast was late often, by 15 minutes, and my tack was not pristine. Bringing up my concerns now would be of no use to me. Jake was off in his own head again. It is a habit I have put my upmost into divesting him of, though he does have the tendency to drift off on these early morning rides. He's just gotten off work. Boomer, I am well aware, is off lazing about. I have told him that he had best leave my Starkey be, but he has likely woken her, should he be so rude as to not allow her to borrow his bed.

After a time, Jake started to talk. Very few people realized that he talked a lot, just not in groups or where he was easily overheard. I love him, in my heart of hearts, I must admit that, but he never tells you the whole story. I ignore him, mostly. I like the quiet.

In retrospect, I should have paid attention to what he was saying to me. I did not, and thusly, I found out from the dog, though I would never admit it, not even today. The dog strolled up, after my ride, and declared, "I have information." His canine feet were standing upon my lunch.

The subtext was clearly that the mutt had information I did not. I inclined my head regally. The best way to handle him is to let him think I know all and that he could tell me nothing to prove me wrong. That way, he is inclined to tell me everything so to attempt to prove me wrong.

My theory, as always, was successful. Boomer dropped his disgusting, decrepit, blue squeaky in the grass, marring my lunch, and said, "Of course, Starkey and I were the first to know." Drool dripped from the toy, and I knew I would not be eating from that patch of grass.

Were they? I did not care what Boomer fabricated so long as he got to the point. "There is to be a baby. I am told it will come in late March." Boomer grinned in his canine, way. Inside, I was overjoyed. I returned to my grass, knowing that I had much to think over.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

 

You see, now, how foolish I was. No. It is clear you do not. Well, perhaps just a bit more elaboration. There may be a dog listening, and I surely would not wish to be unkind to our canine friends, poor unfortunate souls as they are.

You see, my role in this process was integral. It was I who pushed them together in the confines of my stall, I who arranged extra work that they had to do together, I who gave them chance to bond again after that episode I refer to in the recesses of my mind as college. It was I who ensured that this would come to pass. Surely, my mind said, now that the upheaval of the wedding was over, things would go back to normal.

The wedding threw a wrench into any sense of normalcy I had, let me assure you of that fact. While they were living it up in Portland, I was here with Quinn. My brother, fool idiot that Chip is, insists that Quinn is the very best. I tried to get the Vet to arrange a psychological exam for Chip, but the Vet ignored my concerns. I thought about reporting him, but he does give me applesauce in the dispensers quite often. Chip could sort out his own troubles. He was not unconvinced by a wedding he had been excluded from. No! I was! It was a real pity, too, because I had just started to feel that Sam was not a complete buffoon.

Wedding planning had made them all into fools. They talked of seating arrangements, centerpieces, dresses, and reply cards. I was glad to hear about it, though, as I saved them all from making horrible choices. It was the rides that I facilitated that allowed them to clear their heads and make sensible choices that they would not regret later. It was I who made sure that Sam selected spice cake and red velvet for the wedding cake layers. It was I who ensured that she selected a style for her hair that would hold up all day for photographs, after reminding her on a ride how easy it was to topple over. She was slowly learning that I was always right.

Quinn, though, there was no hope for him. One night, Mr. Happy-Go-Lucky used the wrong brush to groom me, and neglected to tell me how lovely I am. Can you imagine such a fate? No. It is too horrible. Quinn was not a bad person, just not trained well. He denied me my due. So when they came home form Portland, I was assured within myself that such changes would no longer be needed, or even possible. After all, it was early fall, and the child was not due to arrive until March. What trouble could it possibly bring until then, especially since it was I who ensured his very existence?

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

I should have not believed that. In retrospect, it was quite foolish. Oh, how wrong I was. The child changed everything. One afternoon, Sam was in the barn, whilst I was minding Starkey. I heard retching, and said to Starkey, "She should really watch for hairballs." The air was thick with the scent of the garden, as the some of the produce was being harvested from the garden, as it was August. Starkey told me that the kitchens were full and the compost heap was growing as things were canned.

The smell of the compost didn't bother me, or Starkey. Starkey wove her body around my forelegs, and replied, "She's got something called morning sickness."

I looked at the sky. It was not morning. Starkey told me that the time of the day didn't make a single bit of difference. Sam would feel better after our ride. I thought of all the ways I could make her feel better. We would take a thundering ride across the playa, and she would breathe deeply, in that way she did, and all would be normal, and all would be well. Sam came out to the pasture, and I made my way towards her. She did not swing up, and she stopped me from heading towards the barn. "Sorry, Witch. We'll go out soon, I promise." Sam said, running her fingers through my mane. It was a little mussed, I noticed, but in a very nice, chic, way.

I was quite let down. Sam read the expression on my face, "I'm really sorry. We'll go out soon. Jake said when he gets up, you'll have a nice ride, huh? I'll tell him you'd like to go to War Drum Flats."

I stomped a hoof, being mindful of my beloved Starkey. I never stomped the hoof she didn't have. It was always important to model the behavior you wanted to see in a foal, and I knew she was a far better horse with three hooves than many horses were with four, or would be with eight. Sam understood my question, "Hey, none of that. It's the baby's fault, okay?" She said that with a smile, as though her disgusting scent, and her tired eyes were something to be happy about. It was disgraceful, but if this baby had taken her from me, I decided that I did not have to like it. It had brought me nothing but trouble today, on a day when my needs should have been top of the pile. I stalked away, hoping that Sam would call after me, saying we could go on a ride after all. Instead, I heard nothing but a soft sigh. War Drum Flats wasn't at all enjoyable, and I was quite perturbed with Jake, who said I was sulking. He said he could not manage another influx of emotionality. I stepped on his foot.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

 

In hindsight, I am not proud of my thought patterns and the resultant behaviors over the next months. I was frequently put out and angry. Do not judge me. As we all must do, I learned. I grew to cope with change. Eventually. It was not an easy process, and I very nearly lost out on some of the best things I will ever know. I sometimes wonder if I would appreciate my mane being tugged on by sticky fingers if I had not once reviled the owner of said fingers.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Months passed. Some days, my breakfast was late, and I wasn't ridden until Jake roused himself from the bed. Those days became more frequent as Sam's quick stride slowed to a choppy waddle. Boomer chastised me when I assert that she looked like a duck, as if that churl has the right to correct anything I say. I threatened his toy. He was more offended than normal. Starkey carried tales of a nursery being set up in the Little House. Was everyone turning into lumps of glue still on the bone around here? Was I the only sensible one left? It appeared that I was, for life was in the proverbial litter box, and no one noticed but me.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

I was not happy. Sam appeared and disappeared with paint one week. Jake spent that Sam week being teased by Quinn for not knowing how to put together furniture. I spent the next weeks going on the most sedate rides in the history of my existence, even including the ones when Jake was riding around with a broken leg because he could not bear the indignity of being laid up. Sam had to be careful of the baby, she said. The baby, the baby, the baby. Everyone was talking about this baby, and it wasn't even here. They were all insane. I felt incredibly neglected and unwanted. Had I not made all of this possible? Had I not done everything, and just when things were going my way, I was cut out from the equation, as unwanted and unnoticed as a pair of old boots?

No. I was not happy, especially not when there was a party on my ranch and I was not invited. I was not even acknowledged as the mastermind, the creator, the impetus behind all of it? There were strange people in my barn, and I took great delight in ignoring them all while protesting the fact that attention was not being lavished on me. You don't need to know anything more than that. I can hear you now, begging for details, for the day to day happenings, but they're completely immaterial. That's not at all how life works, not when we stop and think, not really. I won't waste my time on extraneous details. It was a miserable experience, and that's all you need to know. I did very much like the shade of deep purple they selected for the dinner napkins, though.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Now, see here. I am cognizant of the fact that I should have been more supportive. In retrospect, I should have been. It was a hard seven months, believe you me. There were tears. There were temper tantrums, and there were episodes of melancholy followed by that of binge eating. And frankly, those were just my experiences. I had very little insight into what Sam was doing with her time.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

It was knowing that it was over that changed everything for me, because I learned to look back on things in a new way. I will never forget the day that I learned what retrospection will do for a girl. It was a day that changed everything. I knew something was up. There were balloons on the door, and Max and Grace had been in and out all morning. Imagine my reaction, when both Sam and Jake came home, and did not even bother to stop and say hello.

They came out later, all quiet smiles, as though their earlier slight . I was rather nonplussed by the bundle Sam was carting around, I must admit. It was a blanket. Then Jake smoothed back the fringe that was very distracting and rather off putting, and I saw her. She was wrinkly, and ugly, and she smelled horribly of people I don't care to ever know, and places I have never been. And yet, I knew that it was over. I knew that it was over, and this was the end. She was the end, and I saw everything in a different light because of that.

I loved her, even then. She was worth it. The emotions that were spilling forth, I admit, turned me into something of a mush. Still, to this day, I can only think of the day I met her as one of the best in my life. In actuality, it probably wasn't all that great, and I probably wasn't at all pleased. You see what I mean about retrospection. It colors everything. Max never mentions her initial reaction to the news anymore, never even considers the idea that she was once less than pleased. We don't talk about retrospection, but it does quite a lot to shape our stories.

The blanket fell from Sam's grasp as she shifted the bundle, whose dark eyes were fixed, though unfocused, on mine. Boomer sat down, showing off, finding the blanket. I've never understood what it meant to find something that everyone could see, but everyone made a huge fuss over Boomer. It was highly unfair. No one made a fuss over me finding my salt lick.

Jake lowered himself, picking up the soft blanket. "What'd you find, Boomer?" He said, "What'd you find?"

Boomer was jumping out of his skin, even though he was physically still. Jake spoke again, "Did you find a blanket? You found a pink blanket! Good boy! That's pink!" He said, as Boomer forgot about his toy and stared, like the blanket it was a gift from God. "Boomer's found a pink blanket. Good boy, Boomer!"

"That's rosa?" He breathed at me. His doggy breath stank, but I could see what the realization meant to him. Rather than ignoring him as I did most of his inane questions, I replied.

"Clearly, it is not blue, Dog." Softening, I nosed the dog, "Yes. It's pink." It was only later I learned what pink would come to mean to Boomer. In later years, he would take to wearing pink, to hauling a pink pillow into his bed, to following Louise around as she played Princess in the brightest pink tutu on he planet. On that day, though, I saw none of this. I didn't know that Starkey would declare Louise's laundry hamper the warmest place she had ever found, and refuse to leave it on a regular basis. I knew none of this, then.

All I saw was a family. I saw happiness that I nearly had missed out on. I saw joy, and even though I did not know what it meant, I knew this. I had gotten exactly what I had wished for. I had everything and almost missed it because I had forgotten to look for it, to see in circumstances I still consider less than ideal. I had wished for a foal, and I got Starkey. I wished that Jake would get a job that would allow him to say here, and I got Boomer, he of German accents and drool. I had wished for a baby, thinking that a baby meant commitment and happiness. Louise, I would learn, didn't mean any of those things. She has her own meaning and there's no such thing as a happily ever after provided by a baby. After all, they don't sleep for the first year of their life, or so I would later be told. However, This isn't her story. It's mine, and I must come to my point before I bore myself to death talking about a person you've only met in passing. Perhaps, you might do as I did not, and think about how a situation will appear in a year or two when you are in the midst. Think about how you will think about it then, now, and see if you can't change your perceptions.

Sometimes, you wish for something, only to realize you've gotten it, just not in the way you'd expected. Sometimes, you even end up with things you would have never expected, but still find that your life was incomplete without it. Arthur Wyatt is one such example. Arthur's a few years away in this point of the story, though, so I should probably just assure you that all is, and will be, well. There's nothing more you need to know. After all, don't you all wish to know what the future will hold? Now you do. It's all in your mind. Think about it. You'll see.

_She held me spellbound in the night_

_dancing shadows and firelight_

_crazy laughter in another room_

_And there's some rumors going round_

_someone's underground..._

_Woo Hoo Witchy Woman_

_see how high she flies,_

_Woo Hoo Witchy Woman_

_she got the moon in her eyes..._

_Witchy Woman,_  The Eagles

 


End file.
